I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance With You
by littlemusings
Summary: Blaine Anderson absolutely couldn't believe it. His gaze lingered on the front cover of Vogue's latest issue, the bright-red embossed words sticking out to him like a sore thumb. Fashion's best, Kurt Hummel, is getting married, and not to him. Klaine.
1. One, I'm Biting My Tongue

_You are the girl that I've been dreaming of – ever since I was a little girl_

**CHAPTER** one  
><em>I'm biting my tongue<em>  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance With You<span>  
>by littlemusings<p>

Tour rehearsals and album recordings were extremely grueling and more hardcore than he had expected. _It's just my first tour, so I guess it'll be easier the next time…_ These words ran through his head every day, like a continuous, never-ending mantra. He would wake up in the morning – _four in the morning_ – to get ready to head to the recording studio early. He would be there until noon. After that, he would have a fifteen-minute lunch (_kindly provided to him by his manager_), and head straight to the local theater for tour rehearsal. Costume designers, his production managers, and people prodding him to test this microphone or that headset, or even that new guitar would then hound him continuously for hours.

He was incredibly happy he had Sundays off.

Usually on a Sunday morning, he would sleep in until eight, and go for a jog ("_Just keep fit,_" his manager constantly told him), occasionally get stopped by a fan, grab a latte at Starbucks, and check out the small bookstore right next to the Laundromat on Fifth Avenue. He would usually purchase the latest issues of _Vogue_, _Rolling Stone_ _–_ among others.

But, this Sunday, he couldn't believe what he saw.

He was merely looking for the latest copy of _Vogue_ to devour for the afternoon when he stopped and stared at its latest cover.

He couldn't believe it.

Blaine Anderson absolutely couldn't believe it. His gaze lingered on the front cover of _Vogue_'s latest issue, the bright-red embossed words sticking out to him like a sore thumb.

On the cover was a very, very familiar face. The face of an incredibly handsome, porcelain-skinned young man adorning a crisp black suit, legs crossed in a pose.

Kurt Hummel.

_Fashion's best is getting married_, the cover read. _Special edition issue, 2__nd__ cover._

Kurt Hummel…his ex-boyfriend. Usually, the magazine wouldn't have marriage announcements of fashion designers on its front cover, but apparently, Kurt Hummel was the _only _exception. He was, of course, _Vogue'_s main fashion news contributor, the owner of the amazing, best-selling clothing brand _Pavarotti _(Blaine still snickered every time he heard Kurt say this in an occasional interview – then Blaine would change the channel quickly), and a favorite for this year's Tony Award for Best Actor in the Broadway re-production of _Wicked_ (the first male Elphaba, could you believe it?). His story was legend, as well – the gay kid who suffered through high school was now the man who was now a major ambassador for The Trevor Project.

…And among all of these things, he was the singer Blaine Anderson's famous _ex-boyfriend_.

Getting married? Why hadn't he heard of this? Blaine quickly grabbed the magazine and brought it to the register, paying for it. Telling the woman at the register to keep the change, he ran out and hurried back to Starbucks, taking a corner seat. He quickly flipped through to the table of contents. _Page 40._ Ignoring the normal things he usually read, he found himself staring at a photo of Kurt with another man, who was – Blaine had to admit – pretty gorgeous himself, with dark brown hair, and a sculpted figure.

"_Fashion's Best: Kurt Hummel, 25, is getting married to the love of his life, painter Anthony Marksman. Read on_."

Blaine stared at the magazine in disbelief. Only three years ago, he and Kurt had broken up, and in the meantime, he found a partner. He scanned the article for any mention of his name, but Blaine couldn't find a thing. _Of course he wouldn't mention me – or he probably told them to edit out any questions about me_, he thought scathingly.

But…he _was _mentioned.

_**Interviewer: **__So, Kurt, are you still in contact with Grammy-award winning singer, Blaine Anderson, who you famously split with in summer 2016?_

**Kurt: **_No, actually. No comment. (Laughter_) _Next question, please._

No comment? "_No comment_." _Next question_, please.

Of course he hadn't kept in contact! After such a nasty break-up, why would they keep in contact? Wasn't that the case for most separations? _Stupid interviewer!_

Blaine stood up, slammed the magazine shut, and threw it in the nearest garbage bin, to the stares of curious coffee-drinkers.

_Next question, please_.

The boy he so desperately loved was _getting married_. And to a painter, of all professions and men possible! Blaine jogged down the street, and headed back to his San Francisco flat, frustrated. _Married. And he didn't tell me_. _Ugh, stupid, of course he wouldn't have to tell you, you're his ex-boyfriend, and he doesn't care about you anymore. He broke up with you in the first place because of Broadway, distance, and everything in between, so you shouldn't care if he doesn't. You're in California, and he's in New York, so forget it, Blaine, forget it. _

He flopped down on his couch, turning on the television, going straight to MTV. "Next question, please," he snorted, watching the latest MGMT music video. "Pathetic," he mumbled, lying down on the leather now. "I am so pathetic."

_Ring, ring, ring_. Groaning, Blaine stood up and walked to his kitchen. "Hello?" he answered the phone, teeth clenched.

"_Hi, Blaine,_" came the comforting, familiar voice of his younger sister, Danielle Anderson.

"Dani, I'm glad you called," Blaine sighed in relief. "Did you see _Vogue_? Did you?"

"_That's why I called_," she mumbled. "_I bought a long-distance card just so I could call you_."

His younger sister, 20, was studying in a university in Canada.

"Shouldn't you be studying?" Blaine asked, leaning against the whitewashed wall of the kitchen. "Get crackin' on the books, kid, and don't mind me."

"_But…he's getting married, Blaine. Aren't you going to call him or something?_"

"Nope," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't need to – remember what he said? '_I don't need you in my life anymore,'" _his voice a perfect imitation of Kurt's.

"_You should really call him and everything just to see what's up, and I know this may be hard for you, but try to congratulate him. I think he needs more than just his fellow designers and Broadway people to applaud him._"

"If you haven't noticed, Dani, I haven't forgotten a word he said to me three summers ago."

"_Take this as a time of reconciliation._"

"You sound so saint-like. So unlike you."

"_Because as soon as I saw that cover, Blaine, I thought of you. To be honest, I don't condone things like this, but you…screw what I said earlier. Fuck that 'congratulations' shit. I want you to go to him and tell him you still love him."_

"Uhm, I think that would be borderline awkward," Blaine snapped. "He and I are over—we _have _been over, Danielle."

"_I think he still loves you. I think that deep inside he broke up with you just so that he could get over the pain that you were all the way in San Fran, and he was, or, uhm, is, in New York City._"

"Yeah, yeah right. If he really cared, we would still be together."

"_You're going to be in NYC next Friday for your first show, right? You'll be there for the weekend." _

"What? Yeah, of course."

"_I checked up your tour schedule with mom and dad. They said you'll be in NYC next Friday, and will be there until Tuesday._"

"And you remind of me this, _why_?"

"_You have a chance to redeem yourself with him. Tell him you still love him. Make it like the movies, where the desperately in love boy rushes to the altar, or the engagement party, to tell the boy he loves that he still loves him and wants to take him back."_

"The engagement party is next weekend?" Blaine asked; his voice piqued.

"_Yeah._"

"And you know this, _how?_"

"_Through tabloids…and, well…I was invited_."

"Wait, what?" he exclaimed, his eyes growing wide. "Why were you invited, and I wasn't, Danielle Marie Anderson?"

"_OBVIOUSLY, Blaine, he didn't want to invite his ex-boyfriend in order to avoid awkwardness."_

"Excuse me. So he invites his _ex-boyfriend's sister._"

"_Don't ask me why!"_ Danielle snapped. "_Maybe he wanted to avoid a fight between you and Anthony."_

"See, and if I _do _end up gate-crashing the party, I'll cause a fucking media craze. I can see the tabloid headlines now: _Grammy-award winning singer Blaine Anderson seeks to kill ex-boyfriend's fiancé! Violent tendencies, yes?_ Perez Hilton would be buzzing with gossip."

"_There is tight security; no paparazzi is allowed inside, the invite said,_" Danielle said sourly.

"How can I get in if there's tight security? I don't have an invite."

"_Blaine James Anderson, your sister is a tentative mass communications major and a pro at Photoshop. I'll just edit the invite so that it says your name,_" she said impishly. "_I know all fonts and all kinds of paper types._"

"No way," Blaine breathed. "No, no, no, Danielle, I am not going to cause problems, okay? This is madness."

"_This isn't Sparta, either, buckeye. This is life, and if you don't take this opportunity and do what I say…as mom always said in Tagalog,_ bahala 'ka sa buhay 'mo. '_it's your life_,'" she said, attempting to sound cold. "_You won't get another boyfriend, and Kurt will be married to a hot painter_."

"You amuse me," Blaine grumbled. He thought about it.

_I could have Kurt back._

"This sounds selfish," Blaine finally said, "but…fine. I'll try. Send me the damn invitation."

"_I already made it this morning when I saw the issue, and sent it right after._"

"You crazy bitch," he laughed.

"_Anything for you, my equally crazy bitch."_

"When do you think it'll get here?"

"_Tomorrow morning. Sent it via FedEx, so it'll be faster and get here before your tour starts."_

"You are so prepared."

"_Mom and dad's credit card always keeps me prepared, and anyway, I love you and Kurt together, so whatever, Bee. I'll talk to you later._"

"I love you, Dani."

"_I love you too, Bee_."

He hung up the phone with a click. He was going to New York City for the start of his first tour, and crashing an engagement party. Blaine Anderson had a full schedule on his hands for the next weekend, and was _almost _prepared to handle it.

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel stared at two mannequins, one male and one female, in front of him – the male one was wearing a white polo and black tie, with a dark blue blazer on top. The blazer's collar was lined with red pipe, and an ornately stitched <em>P<em> was embedded onto the left breast pocket.

He had no idea why he had designed this specific outfit, but his hands just worked and worked until this came up as his result. It looked too much like something familiar.

It looked too much like Dalton Academy's uniform. A private school in Ohio's uniform.

"Too much red piping; I could do without it all," he muttered to himself, picking up his sketchbook and redrawing the sketch of the blazer. He looked over to the female mannequin, which was wearing a tube-top dress of the same color as the blazer. It was form fitting up to the waist, and then branched out in ballerina skirt-like layers from the waist to the knee. The layers of the sequined skirt were blue and red together.

"The dress, yes, the red piping on the blazer, no thank you," he said again, gesturing for his assistant to come forward

"Yes, Mr. Hummel?" his assistant and NYU intern, Jamie Lewis, asked, pulling out a notepad.

"I want to re-edit the entire male line. The blue and red aren't really working for me anymore," Kurt sighed, rubbing his temples with his hands. "Can you take note that I don't really want any more red piping on these blazers?"

"But, sir, the colours seem patriotic. Didn't you say you were going for a patriotic theme when _Vogue_ interviewed you two months ago?"

"Dump the patriotic theme. It's too Betsy Ross mixed in with 'innocent little Ohio private school boy,'" the designer snapped, turning to face Jamie. Jamie blinked, backing up a little. Kurt softened his glance, and patted her shoulder.

"Sorry, Jamie," he murmured. "Didn't mean to get at you like that."

"It's all okay, Mr. Hummel," she responded, biting her bottom lip. "What do you suggest we do now?"

"I'll think of something tonight, I always do," he winked, putting his arm over Jamie's shoulders. "You see these two outfits?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she responded curiously.

"These are sure-fire signs that I am starting to go mad," Kurt nodded, pursing his lips together. He patted her shoulder and walked off, leaving her with the mannequins in the bright, fluorescently lit studio, slamming the door behind him.

Once he was sure he was alone, Kurt ran to his bathroom and washed his face. He looked in the mirror and found that his eyes were red and stinging furiously.

_Come on, Kurt, get a grip on yourself_, he thought angrily. _Of course he might have seen the magazine, you know he reads it. Why did you do something so stupid? And those outfits—stop creating things that remind you of him. Besides, you're the one who ended it, you extremely ignorant baby penguin. And, you have Anthony. Anthony loves you. Yes, he does, very much. _

He pulled paper towels from the dispenser in the corner and dabbed at his face. "Now, get out there, and put on a happy face," he said to himself, and then walked out, and back into his studio, where Jamie was still waiting for him to come back.

"Sorry about that, Jamie," he cleared his throat. "Just needed to use the bathroom."

"Yes, sir," she said quietly. "I also wanted to, um, congratulate you on your engagement, by the way."

"Thank you," Kurt said, smiling brightly. "Now, my dear, would you like to help me start an entirely new line?"

Jamie could only stutter. "Y-yes, sir! Of course—I would love to!"

"Let's get cracking," Kurt grinned even bigger, handing her a sketchbook.

"Not quite yet," a voice piped up. Kurt's smile plastered onto his face as his fiancé – his _fiancé_ – walked into the studio.

Anthony Marksman was statuesque, amazingly chiseled, with dark brown hair that could only have been _dyed_ – Kurt knew this right away when they first met. Despite his 'fake hair,' Anthony was gorgeous; his dark brown eyes made him, Kurt, melt.

"Hey, babe," Anthony grinned, giving Kurt a kiss on the cheek. Blushing, Kurt kissed him back in response.

"You're early," Kurt breathed, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. "And what do you mean 'not quite yet'?"

"I thought we were going out for dinner," Anthony pouted. Jamie looked from Kurt to Anthony, and backed away onto the closest couch.

"I thought I texted you earlier, saying that I have to work late today?" Kurt sighed, gesturing towards his two mannequins and tables full of fabric and sketches.

"Take a break, Kurt," Anthony laughed, "I got us a perfect window-seat table at the new Italian Restaurant down the street from here."

"That sounds absolutely lovely, Anthony, but I really have to finish the concept for my new line by tomorrow so I can talk to marketing as well. You know how much this means to me," Kurt pleaded, taking his hands in his. "This new line will make Pavarotti earn millions! I'll even get to go to Paris Fashion Week for a second time, this time as a major designer!"

"Dinner," Anthony pouted once more. "Please?"

"This weekend, I promise, after I get this and all the PR stuff and sewing and all that done, okay? I promise."

"You're no fun," Anthony sighed. "Oh well. Fine. Go ahead."

"I'm sorry, babe," Kurt said sincerely.

"At least we have our party next week," Anthony sighed, and let go. "I'll talk to you later; I have to sell one of my paintings at the gallery on the Upper East Side," he added. "Call me when you need someone to pick you up."

"Okay. Bye," Kurt said, waving enthusiastically. Anthony walked out of the office, dejected. Once the door was closed and he heard the lift take his fiancé downstairs, Kurt breathed a sigh of relief.

"Boss, are you really okay?" Jamie asked, clutching her new sketchbook and her old notepad to her chest. "That was…tense."

"It's just one of those days," Kurt shrugged, beginning to compare fabrics. Jamie stood up and patted his shoulder.

"I know I haven't worked for you long, Mr. Hummel, but if you ever need anything, or need to talk, or whatever, you've got me."

"Thank you, Jamie," Kurt smiled at her. "Just call me Kurt. 'Mr. Hummel' is my dad, and that just sounds weird."

"Right…Kurt," she said happily.

"Alright, Jamie, I need you to check out that silk over there, and I'm going to get some of my old stuff and see if I can work from it."

"Roger that."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I hoped you enjoyed reading the first chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Sorry if it sounds very loose and whatnot, but I absolutely love Klaine, and I've been having random plotbunnies jumping around my head recently. I was obviously inspired by Blaine's "Prom Queen" performance pick.

And for those who are reading my Percy Jackson & the Olympians story, _When We Say_ - I'm so sorry that I've been procrastinating on it. I've been busy with school lately.

**Please review! **Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames will be used to fry my chicken. Thanks!

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Glee, because it's clearly Ryan Murphy's. If I owned Glee...let's just say there would be more Klaine moments ;P

- Sam


	2. Two, He's Kissing On You

_blaine anderson had a full schedule on his hands for the next weekend  
>and he was <em>almost _prepared to handle it_

**CHAPTER **two  
><em>He's kissing on you<em>  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance With You<span>

by littlemusings

**2016 / summer  
><strong>_**Los Angeles, California**_**  
><strong>

_The front door opened and closed with a click; the squeaking of boots was audible from where Blaine sat in the study._

_He beamed, turning away from his songbook and desk to face Kurt, who had just walked into the study. "Hey there, beautiful," he said smoothly, standing up. He was about to kiss him when Kurt turned his face away. Worried, Blaine watched as Kurt walked over to a nearby chair and sat on it, throwing his Marc Jacobs bag in a corner furiously._

"_What's wrong?" he asked as Kurt rested his hands in his lap and bowed his head._

"_Blaine…" he hesitated, "I…got the part of Elphaba."_

_Blaine sat next to him and hugged him tightly. "I'm so proud of you! Why the long face?" _

"_I'm going to go to New York next week for rehearsals."_

_The shorter boy froze, staring at the young countertenor sitting next to him. "Oh! That's…great! The Big Apple, where you've always wanted to go!"_

_Kurt looked up at him hesitantly. _

"_Which…which is why I came home early to tell you that…I think we should stop seeing each other."_

_The words came onto him like a pile of bricks. Blaine stood up on instinct and exclaimed, "What?"_

"_Blaine, I've realized that we haven't been spending as much time together as we should. I've been busy launching my line, and juggling my Broadway duties, and my relationship, and they're really straining me. I haven't had the chance to…you know, think of myself."_

"_But we always said 'our relationship' first before anything," Blaine said desperately, getting down on his knees, grasping Kurt's hands in his. "Kurt, are you okay?" he asked again, scared, putting his palm to Kurt's porcelain-white forehead. "Are you sick or something?" _

_Kurt pushed his hands away and folded them within his. "I'm perfectly fine, Blaine. I just don't want to…I just don't want this to go on any longer."_

"_What?" _

"_You're…you're the only boyfriend I've ever had, Blaine. Who knows? I might…I might find someone in New York. I've got to keep my o-options open. I'm going to New York, Blaine, and you know that we're not good at long distance relationships." _

"_I…I…" Blaine stuttered. "Wh…what?" _

"_I…I'm sorry," Kurt whispered, standing up and walking to the rooms of their apartment, looking for luggage bags. Blaine ran after him._

"_You can't just do this, Kurt," Blaine shouted. "I love you. Please, don't leave me." _

_He heard a bag being thrown onto the ground, and Kurt re-appeared, chest heaving. "I followed you here in the first place. You know I had my dreams, but, no, you had me come all the way here to California, when I clearly had plans to go to New York. I was stuck at a college I didn't want—"_

"_UCLA? I thought it was one of your choices?" Blaine exclaimed. "Kurt, what are you saying?" _

"_It was one of my choices at the time, because I was so damn distracted by you! I could have done a majority of the things I've wanted to do, if it weren't for you!"_

"_Are you insane?" Blaine exclaimed. "Is this a joke? I didn't __**make **__you come here!" _

"_What about the 'what about us, Kurt?' shit?" _

"_SHIT? Excuse me!" Blaine said, taken aback, his heart feeling constricted. "I told you that you have your options, but you clearly chose to come with me here. And we've graduated already, so why haven't you gone to New York yet? I would have supported you the entire way!" _

"_I'm going now. I was lucky they had that _Wicked _audition. They wouldn't have come here if I hadn't sent in an audition tape," Kurt yelled, going back to the extra room with the luggage bags. "I think that this whole relationship is dragging my dreams and chances down. There is no room in the Californian market at the moment for a fledgling designer and Broadway dreamer." _

_Tears stung Blaine's eyes as he walked into the room. "What is _going on _with you? Can't we talk?"_

"_There's no need to talk. I've grown up. I'm not that baby penguin, the boy you fell in love with five years ago. My feelings have been fading. I don't love you anymore," Kurt said with an echoing finality. Blaine stood still as Kurt walked into the next room to gather his clothes and belongings. When he regained his bearing, Blaine followed him. _

"_You're not the only one with dreams, Kurt – I've got mine as well, and I got nominated for a Grammy this morning, and I wanted to tell you –"_

"_That's nice, Blaine. I want you to have a good life, okay? You don't need me here."_

"_I do," Blaine said desperately. "I love you, I love you, I—"_

"_Stop, Blaine." _

"You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream…" _Blaine sang quietly. Kurt held a hand up for him to stop. _

"_Just…just shut up!" Kurt said fiercely. Blaine could see tears brimming in his eyes, just as they were in his. "I'm going to live my life." _

"_I love you, Kurt Hummel." _

_Kurt zipped up his luggage bag and dragged it down the hallway, Blaine following after him. The taller boy opened the front door and slammed it shut. Blaine threw it open and ran after him down the stairwell._

"_KURT!" Blaine shouted. Kurt stopped and turned around before opening the door to the first floor. "Don't you remember the promise I made you at our UCLA graduation? That I'd be the first person to be at your Broadway shows, and the last person to leave—and that I'd bring you your favorite flowers—lilies of the valley. Just like you and I promised each other. You wanted to have flowers like Kate Middleton." _

_Kurt turned away from him swiftly and left the stairwell. _

"_Kurt, please!" Blaine cried. Kurt, ignoring him, walked out of the building, a taxicab already waiting for him. Kurt entered the taxi, and it zoomed off. Blaine was left by the front door of the building, tears running down his face._

* * *

><p><strong>2019  San Francisco, California**

Blaine tossed and turned in his bed, the sound of his alarm blasting annoyingly. Groaning, he peered at it: 4AM. Angrily slamming the snooze button, he sat up reluctantly, running a hand through his dark, curly hair. The memory of Kurt leaving rammed his head painfully _again_, and he quickly threw it aside as he got ready for another day of recording and tour practice. He was to leave for New York in two days, and his schedule was working him overtime. Sighing, Blaine brushed his teeth and walked into the shower, letting the cool water wash away any negative feelings.

Unfortunately, the water wasn't helping. Muttering to himself as he fixed and slightly gelled his hair, Blaine quickly got dressed and headed out of his apartment, – he had moved into this new, bachelor-style apartment after the breakup – seeking out his old Navigator, the only car he ever believed to be sufficient. Getting in, he sped towards the San Francisco mini-Sony Records studio and parked in his regular spot. He walked out and into the studio, where he saw his manager, Duke Whitley, on the phone, seemingly excited about something.

_Probably another gig in this country_, Blaine thought scathingly. Duke saw him, and muttered something that sounded like "I've got you another gig in New York!"

Blaine nodded, pretending to grin brightly. "Totally awesome," he mouthed back, giving Duke a thumbs-up. Blaine walked quickly past his manager and into the recording lounge, where his trusty guitar and Yamaha keyboard were waiting for him. Relaxing on the closest couch, he picked up his guitar and warmed up his voice with one of his songs.

_I hate where I'm at,  
>Actin' crazy like that<br>I know that I've been wrong,  
>It's something I've been working on<em>

_And I don't know what to do  
>It's changing me, it's killing you<em>

"BLAINE, my man!" Duke's loud and raucous voice blasted from the door of the recording lounge. Blaine jumped in his seat, nearly dropping his guitar. "You will never guess what gig I got you, boy. I bet you'll like it."

"Sure, D," Blaine said tiredly, sitting properly on the couch.

"Since we'll be in New York until Tuesday this coming week, I got you the chance to play at another celebrity's party! It's going to be on the Upper East Side."

"Which celebrity?" Blaine muttered, his heart beginning to pound fiercely.

"Well, I wanted to ask you before confirming everything and all, because…uhm…"

Blaine froze. _No way._

"…this weekend is Kurt Hummel and Anthony Marksman's engagement party, and dear old Anthony just called and asked—"

* * *

><p>"No way."<p>

"_This is your chance, so you won't have to use the forged invitation."_

"Dani, this is going to kill me," Blaine groaned, lying back on his bed after a long day of work, his shoulders sore from carrying his guitar around all day. He had been trying to avoid prying questions from Duke ever since his lovely manager had asked him about the engagement party. "I am not going to perform."

"_You've told me once before, Bee, that music is the perfect tool for expressing one's feelings. So, why not sing for Kurt? Sing him a song that'll make him tear off that engagement ring and run into your stubby little arms."_

"'Stubby little arms'? I'm not that short, Danielle," he grumbled, slightly hurt. "Anyway, I'm not going to sing for them. No way."

"_Decline, and then go stalker mode with the forged invitation, then. Simple!"_

"I'll get recognized," Blaine hissed, hugging his pillow. "No."

"_You have the invitation already. All you need to do is walk into Kurt's studio on party night."_

"No."

"_Trust me. Remember I was the one who got you to finally kiss him? If it weren't for my amazing sisterly advice-giving and convincing skills, you would not have had the guts to ask him to sing 'Candles' with him, or wouldn't have made out with him. And I was twelve when I gave you all of that advice and it worked. Now, listen to me and be a good boy." _

"I'll think about it. Are you thinking about heading over to NY for the weekend for the concert?"

"_Of course. I'll be meeting up with mom and dad at the Palace. You're staying there, right?"_

"Yeah," he responded. "I thought you were going to do school stuff this weekend?"

"_Things change. I am spontaneous, Bee. Very spontaneous."_

"Right. Gotta go."

"_You're just trying to avoid my awesomeness," _Danielle exclaimed as Blaine hung up his phone. _Click_. He stood up, stretched, and walked over to his kitchen to find a snack to eat. Finding a box of Fruit Loops, he grabbed it and a bowl, and began to eat when his doorbell rang. Already irritated, he walked to the foyer and opened the door to find a very disheveled-looking Duke standing on his doorstep.

"What happened to you?" Blaine exclaimed. Duke walked in without invitation, and sat down on the couch.

"You are going to take that second gig in New York."

"You haven't answered my question," Blaine smirked, sitting across from him.

"So much equipment was loaded onto the trucks today for the tour. Banners, lights, instruments, band stuff, and everything. I had to run around and make sure everything was alright."

"Ah, I see. And you're here, why?"

"Because I'm your manager and friend, and I'm telling you to take that party gig. You know, the Hummel-Marksman—"

"Don't say those names, please," Blaine muttered in disgust. "Their names sound…odd together."

"Well, it seems inevitable at the moment that the two are eventually going to put their names together."

"It sounds wrong," Blaine muttered again. Duke smirked.

"Hummel-Marksman."

"Goddamn it, Duke."

Duke sat up and looked at his client curiously. "I know you still love the guy, Blaine. I know and have seen all kinds of unconditional love—gay, straight, alien, animal, mozzarella and white—" (Blaine stared at him in bewilderment) "—even though I haven't really experienced it in my twenty-eight years of living on this damned planet: the way you react when he appears on television, your rush to grab the monthly copy of _Vogue_ to read his articles and contributions. Plus, I've known you since right before he ended it. You were such a wreck after that, and I had to help you write your happier songs. I am a firm believer in the prospect of him loving you back."

"…alien?" Blaine laughed. Duke rolled his eyes. "No, seriously, Duke – mozzarella and white cheese? Are you kidding me?"

"YOU ARE EVADING MY THOUGHTS AND BELIEFS ON THE SITUATION," Duke exclaimed, raising his hands in annoyance. "You've gotta let me talk, Blaine!" Blaine sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Don't do this, Duke. My sister was just hounding me about the whole thing."

"Dani? Your cute little sister?"

"Pedophile."

"Handsome man I am, pedophile I am not. She's twenty, for God's sake, a young woman," Duke said, hurt, putting a hand to his chest. "All jokes aside, if she agrees with me that you should take that gig and sing your fucking heart out to the porcelain princess, then she's awesome and you should listen to her."

"Porcelain princess?" Blaine smiled.

"Yeah, it's a nickname I've randomly made up," Duke said, shooing away his comments with a flick of his hand. "Anyway, are you going to do it, or am I going to seriously throttle you with an extra ten hours or rehearsal tomorrow?"

Blaine sighed. "I was going to just go in with a forged invitation, but to be honest, I'd rather just avoid any police beat-ups and bails and whatnot."

"You love him still! I absolutely knew it!" his manager boomed, laughing.

"…It was obvious, wasn't it?"

"That's my boy!" Duke exclaimed, standing up. He patted Blaine on the back. "Tomorrow is your new rest day. Treat it well, because we're leaving on the earliest flight on Friday: five AM for New York City, Blaine! First tour ever after releasing two EPs and a full album and winning a motherfucking Grammy!"

"I'll see you on Friday, Duke," Blaine laughed, ushering his manager out gently. "Thanks."

"For what? Being the coolest boss ever?"

"Oh, shut up," Blaine smirked as Duke laughed and waved, walking out of his apartment. Shutting the door softly, Blaine leaned back on it and sighed.

"'_New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of_,'" he sang quietly, and went back to eating his bowl of cereal.

* * *

><p>"You <em>what<em>?" Kurt groaned, running his hands through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Anthony, please, you _didn't_! NO, no, _no! _This will be the death of me!"

Anthony, who was sitting across his fiancé in their condominium's dining room, rolled his eyes. "You're over him anyway, and I happen to like his music. Plus, the night I was looking through possible and available artists, you were working late. So why can't I pick our performer, Kurt?"

"I should have some say in who performs at our _engagement party_!" Kurt exclaimed, slamming his fist with a soft rap on the table, completely aware that the dining table was made of glass. "You could have texted me first. Anthony, you know how much this will suck. He…he and I—"

"You have a history, yes, but you're getting married now, Kurt, and you're happy, aren't you?"

"Have you heard his songs?"

"They are amazing!" Anthony exclaimed.

"Please, don't do this to me," Kurt begged, taking Anthony's hands in his. "Please, please, please."

"He's already scheduled," Anthony sighed, leaning back in his seat, "and I can't cancel, because there are no more open acts available for the party."

"Of all dramatic performers, singers, and…and…Grammy-award winning men, you pick…B-Blaine Anderson!"

Anthony shrugged. "I'm using this as a test of faith."

"How insensitive!" Kurt exclaimed, "To be honest, even hiring someone of the likes of – ah, let's see – Justin freaking Bieber or even some garage band would have been better!" he shouted, storming off into their room on the second floor. Anthony sighed, chest heaving, and walked up the stairs.

"Kurtie," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"A test of faith? A _test of faith_," Kurt yelled back in disbelief, poking his head out of the bedroom door. "Don't you trust me enough, Anthony? You—you know I love you!"

"I know you do, babe, and if you really did love me—"

"Please don't pull that silly excuse on me."

"He's just going to perform all night and then leave. End of story. I promise you that."

"I'm going to avoid looking at the stage the entire night, then."

Anthony grinned brightly and walked into the room, giving Kurt a soft hug. "I'm sorry, but it's just for one night, okay? Then you'll never have to see Anderson ever again. I promise you that. No one else is available!"

"Don't pull a stunt like that on me ever again," Kurt warned, pulling away and swinging Anthony's hands around in his. "And don't use the 'no one else is available' excuse, either!"

"I just don't want to lose you, and I want to make sure that your feelings for me will definitely stay, babe," Anthony sighed.

"How dramatic."

"No more dramatic than you are," Kurt laughed hesitantly. "I'm going to the mini-studio and rework my line. I'll come back in this room by eleven, I promise."

"Work…again."

"At least I'm not at my actual studio," Kurt laughed nervously. "Just give me four hours."

"Come _on_, Kurt, again?"

"I thought you wanted me to succeed."

"I do!" Anthony exclaimed, sighing. "It's just that ever since I proposed to you, you've been working more and more lately."

"Well, I guess it's my clever way of saying that you…you'll get more of me after we get married!" Kurt shrugged, his voice peaking a little higher.

Anthony smiled and laughed. "Fine. Go work," he said, bowing to his fiancé. Kurt jumped and squealed happily, kissing Anthony on the cheek quickly before running to his mini-studio.

_Let's just see, _Anthony thought, _just to make sure_.

* * *

><p>Kurt closed the door of his mini-studio quietly. When he wasn't at his main studio, he was here, working on future clothing lines and practicing songs for his <em>Wicked <em>run. The studio was monochrome, with extremely white walls, and black furniture and black room accessories. The room was soundproof. Just the way Kurt had wanted their entire condominium, but Anthony thought the monochrome style 'bland', and just to appease him, Kurt let his…fiancé…do the home designing, which pained him slightly inside. This was the one room where he could escape the pressures of the company, _Vogue_, his director, and most of all, the ups and downs of being with Anthony.

Sure, Anthony was a gentleman. How they had met was completely random: Kurt was leaving the Vogue building two years ago, and he was running in order to catch a cab he saw heading his way when Anthony accidentally bumped into him—and spilled his Starbucks coffee all over Kurt's new Jacobs bag. Of course, Kurt was furious, since Vogue gave it to him for free, but after realizing that Anthony was gay as well when he went to buy him a new bag made him feel…less alone in the Big Apple.

Less alone. Less alone in a brand new place, New York.

Maybe that's why he dated him in the first place. Maybe that's why he was going to marry him, and why he broke up with Blaine in the first place. _He didn't want to feel alone_. _He didn't want to be so far away from Blaine, so it was the best solution._ But why did the feeling get worse now that he was _engaged_ to Anthony? Wasn't Anthony the real prince charming he was looking for?

The Upper East Side wasn't as pretty as Cinderella's castle as he imagined: that was for sure.

Kurt groaned and turned on his iPod speakers to a soft level. He picked up his iPhone and dialed his stepbrother, Finn's, number quickly, his heart feeling heavier as he saw the glistening diamond engagement ring on his ring finger.

"_Hello_?" a female voice rang happily. Quinn Fabray-Hudson, Finn's wife, and his former fellow Glee-clubber.

"Quinn! Hi there!" Kurt exclaimed happily, a little downtrodden that it wasn't Finn who answered. It wasn't that he _hated _Quinn, it was just that he couldn't relate what he wanted to say to her properly. "Is Finn around? I thought this was his number."

"_It is_," she responded, "_but he's in training right now, so I'm on the bleachers watching the team practice and watching his phone_."

After graduating from McKinley, Finn had gone on to play for Penn State, and was eventually picked and drafted into the NFL – the New England Patriots on first-string, not before marrying Quinn.

"Oh, okay," Kurt sighed. "Can you tell him to call me back later?"

"_What's wrong, Kurt_?" Quinn asked worriedly. _"Is it Anthony_?"

"You both are coming to my engagement party, right?" Kurt asked quickly.

"_Of course we are! Well…actually…Finn doesn't want to go,_" Quinn mumbled into the receiver. Kurt suspected that Finn looked up from the stadium and saw Quinn on his phone.

"I totally know why," Kurt groaned, flopping onto his couch.

"_You know how he reacted when you started dating Anthony._"

"Obviously, he had no tact and nearly decked the phone he was using when I told him," he smirked. "But…honestly, _still_? Our parents are going!"

"_I'll have to have Finn call you back—he's obviously wondering why I'm not watching his 'fabulous' self practice_," Quinn said amusedly.

"Bye, Quinn. Thanks."

"_Bye, Kurt. Hope to see you this weekend._"

Kurt hung up his phone and slid it across the coffee table between his lounge's two couches. _What am I going to do now? _He had no one to talk to: Finn hated him for breaking up with Blaine and dating Anthony, Rachel was in London's West End for the West End revival of _Evita_, and Mercedes was visiting relatives in Ohio – and obviously turned off her phone. She wasn't even going to be in New York this weekend for the party, because she knew that a part of him still loved Blaine. _I ain't going to that party, unless it's for something real_, she had told him.

He had never felt more alone in that moment.

_You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream._

He shut off his iPod speakers angrily and pulled out a sketchbook, beginning to draw out new clothes—tears stinging his eyes painfully.

How was he going to deal with Blaine standing right there, singing to them at the engagement party?

_Get out of my fucking mind. Please._

* * *

><p><strong>two days later  somewhere between California and New York**

Blaine was slightly happy with the way things were going. The day before, he was given his first proper "day off" in months and he spent it sleeping at home and grabbing a blended fruit juice drink at Starbucks later on. It was even the first time he felt refreshed, waking up at two in the morning to get ready to go to LAX with his production team. His parents already texted him, saying that they were on their way to New York from Westerville, Ohio, and Danielle called him to say that she ditched classes for the day to drive to New York. (_"Don't worry, the Mounties are good friends of mine."_)

The airplane was nearly there. Blaine felt anxious, his foot tapping quietly on the airplane floor as he listened to his iPod. Duke was giving him incredulous, worrying looks as the ride went on.

"We're almost there," Blaine muttered. Duke smirked.

"Exciting!" he grinned, hugging the pillow the airline provided. "We're gonna rest up at the Palace and meet up with your parents, then we have a press conference at six PM. Then, it's show time at eight-tonight and tomorrow night, then the party on Sunday! Do you have any idea what you're going to sing at the party yet?"

"I think I have an idea," Blaine shrugged. "Some of my stuff, some covers."

"I bet Dani suggested you use this show as a ploy to get Kurt back."

"You and her think so alike."

"Anyway, you should definitely talk through your songs."

"She said that, too."

"As I said, super compatible we are!"

"No way," Blaine frowned.

"Whatever. Anyway, you just need to pick a list of good stuff."

"Isn't that going to kick you and I out of the party? I don't think Marksman would like it if I sang to his fiancé," Blaine gagged on the last word he said.

"You have a point," Duke muttered. "And that means losing nearly three grand for the performance."

"You don't want to lose two- to three-grand for my performance?" Blaine said smugly, knowing he was most definitely going to win.

"To be honest, kid, I pretty much value your happiness over that three grand. We're getting paid more than that tonight, and the next night, and throughout the entire time we're touring the country."

"What about the press?"

"As I've said before, don't give a shit," Duke shrugged. Blaine huffed and looked at his manager.

"I'll think about it."

"Good boy."

"_Passengers, we will be landing in New York, LaGuardia Airport, in approximately ten minutes. All passengers please remain in your seats and keep your belts buckled as we descend into the runway."_

"It's going to be awesome, Blaine my man."

"It better be." _It better be worth it._

* * *

><p><strong>the same day  The Palace Hotel, New York City, New York**

Danielle Marie Anderson was a very impatient young woman.

Standing at about 5'3" at twenty years old, she had dark, wavy hair that cascaded up to her waist, skin a bit more tan than her older brother's – but she shared the same, piercing hazel eyes that were common to the Anderson side of their family.

And, above all things, she was impatient. She had her brother-and her father's-Anderson-patented impatience.

She was sitting at the lobby of the Palace Hotel, waiting for her older brother and her parents to arrive. Her mother had just texted that their flight was delayed, so they wouldn't be arriving in New York until later in the afternoon. _I had to go through a train and a bus to get here. I woke up so fucking early to get back to this country._ She frowned, irritated at the fact that she nearly lost her passport at the borderline; the Mounties weren't exactly happy with her furiously insisting that she _was _an American citizen and that _she was definitely _sure that she had misplaced her passport. Luckily, it was in her right-jeans pocket the entire time.

"Miss, would you like to check in already?" the concierge at the counter asked. His face was the picture of bewilderment. She had been waiting in the same chair area for two hours.

"Just a few more minutes."

"Are you in a party, or single?"

"Party."

"Last name?"

"Anderson," she sighed. "Waiting for my brother and his manager, really."

"Ah! Mr. Blaine Anderson," the concierge said excitedly. "You're his sister, aren't you?"

"Uhm, I just said that," Danielle nodded, "But, yeah, he is my brother."

"Okay, then," the concierge responded, going back to his business at the front desk.

_Ugh, it's like a fucking scene out of Gossip Girl_, she thought scathingly. _Me, waiting at the Palace for someone who's taking, like, ten thousand years to get here._ _Jesus, how embarrassing. Hurry up, Blaine._

"Miss, would you like a coffee?" the concierge asked from the counter. Danielle shook her head.

"No, thank you," she sighed. She pulled her luggage bag closer to her chair and spoke up again to the concierge, "Do you mind watching my bag? I'm going to check out the area."

The concierge nodded sympathetically, and she walked out of the hotel impatiently. Just as she was about to open the door, it opened and the door handle hit her on the nose. She fell to the floor with a _splat._

"_Goddamn it!_" she shouted, clutching her nose gingerly. "Shit, fuck, damn it!"

"I am so sorry!" a man exclaimed, helping her up. Danielle looked up, lights bouncing in her eyes, and she recognized the pale and panicky face of Duke Whitely, her older brother's manager.

"_Duke?_"

"_Danielle_?"

"Oh my God, Dani, are you okay?" she heard Blaine exclaim. She let go of her nose and found a small bit of blood on her palm.

"Goddamn it," she muttered. "Is it broken?"

"Blaine, check us in. Here's my receipt and booking info," Duke said, his tone turning panicky, "I'll bring her to the hospital!"

"No way, she's _my _sister, Duke!" Blaine exclaimed, standing next to her, examining her face. "You stay here, I'll bring her!"

"But we need to check in!" Duke exclaimed.

"Don't be stupid, just let Blaine go with me, and you fucking check in!" Danielle shouted, her voice slightly becoming nasal. "It hurts! _Shit_!"

Duke looked from Blaine to Dani. "Blaine, you better come back in time for the press conference!"

"Of all things to care about right now…" Blaine muttered. His bodyguard followed him and Dani out of the hotel.

_Crazy people_, Blaine thought to himself amusedly. "What the hell happened?"

"Your dumbass manager opened the door before the bellboy did and hit my nose. Why the hell do they make such huge-ass door handles? Ah, fu—"

"Since when did you get so wordy?" Blaine muttered as their chauffer opened the door to their car. He led Danielle in first, making sure she didn't hit her head on the top of the car as well. Right after he entered, and right before he closed the door, he heard a high voice ring out:

"Yes, yes, I _know_, Jamie, just make sure that you lock the studio before you leave, and if anyone wants to enter as you leave, just tell them to eat a cactus, or something threatening like that."

Panicking, Blaine slammed the door shut. Peeking out the window, he saw a tall, fit, and porcelain-skinned young man with perfectly coiffed hair, adorning a white, buttoned down polo and black vest – not to mention equally white pants – talking on a cell phone as he entered the Palace Hotel.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I am a really happy beaver right now. 63 alerts and 22 favourites? Egads! When I saw my inbox, I was really surprised! Thank you so much everyone for supporting this story, and I hope you keep on supporting until the end because this means so much. I hope you're enjoying the story so far and the direction that it's taking. Please leave me any reviews and tell me how you feel! Constructive criticism, as mentioned in the previous chapter, is highly welcome.

**_Disclaimer: _**I do not own Glee, unfortunately. FOX and its respective creators do. I also do not own Darren Criss' amazing song '_Jealousy_.' If you haven't yet, check out his album, 'Human'. Starkids & Gleeks will all enjoy!

Love,  
>Sam<p> 


	3. Three, Oh Why Can't You See?

_I know and have seen all kinds of unconditional love—gay, straight, alien, animal, mozzarella and white_

**CHAPTER **three  
><em>Oh, why can't you see?<br>_of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance With You  
>by littlemusings<p>

"…_just tell them to eat a cactus, or something threatening like that._"

Glistening white, tight pants. A white polo. A black vest. _"Monochrome_," Blaine whispered in awe. He was staring at the retreating figure (who was entering the Palace) as Danielle started prodding him impatiently.

"Monochrome, what? Blaine – _hello?_ My nose is spewing blood all over the place," she hissed, "and the driver's wondering which hospital to go to!"

"I just saw him."

"Saw who? Listen, Bee, at the moment, I really don't care if you saw the ghost of Alexander McQueen, because I'm going to become a bloodless corpse any minute now."

"Kurt," Blaine breathed, starting to unlock the door.

"_What_?" Danielle exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive, only he could say something like—" he began, but hesitated to open the door as he saw Kurt's figure retreating into the Palace Hotel.

"Get going, then!" Danielle yelled, pushing him. Blaine groaned and mumbled something incoherent, and opened the door.

But, he slammed it shut again, staying inside. "No. I'm taking you to the hospital. You first, Danners," he breathed, trying to keep his composure. Danielle stared at him in bewilderment (even Blaine thought it was strange; she was giving him a reproachful look with a bruised, bloody nose, and it looked a bit funny to him). "Don't give me that look, Dani."

"You go and run! Get your boyf—"

"Just…just stop it, Dani. Not now."

An awkward silence filled the vehicle.

"Mr. Anderson, where to? The nearest hospital?" the driver asked nervously. He was hoping that the blood from Danielle's nose wouldn't fall onto the leather seats.

"Yes," Blaine said stiffly, and the car zoomed down the avenue with speed only New Yorkers could pump out.

* * *

><p>Duke was utterly worried. He almost <em>killed <em>his client's sister – well, almost. Kind-of. Not really. He was now here at the Palace Hotel, hoping and praying that Blaine would make it back by six for the press conference and that Danielle would have a nice and mended nose by that time. Handing the receipts and booking details to the concierge, who was still bewildered at the whole scenario, he sighed and waited as the man entered the Anderson party data into the computer.

"Excuse me," a voice asked cheerily. Duke turned around to find the source of the voice and saw a very familiar person standing behind him, tall and porcelain white. His jaw dropped.

_Fuck! Of all the goddamn hotels in this city! I totally forgot!_

It was Kurt Hummel. He swiftly turned his head back to face the concierge desk.

Kurt looked much more different than he did three years ago. He was still effeminate, as always, but his arms were slightly more firm and muscular. His voice, though, was still the same as it was always: high, and unnaturally different than most guys.

"I'll get to you in a minute, Mr. Hummel," the concierge said politely.

Duke became more rigid when Kurt rested his arms on the counter, standing directly next to him.

"Oh, I'm just here to confirm the details for this Sunday's party. We reserved the Villard Ballroom from six p.m. to three a.m."

"Yes, sir," the concierge responded again. He turned to Duke: "Mr. Whitely, I would just like to confirm that you reserved a three-bedroom specialty suite on the fourteenth floor, as well as four club rooms under the name of a Mr. Blaine Anderson."

Duke braced himself, as Kurt turned to face him sharply.

"Duke? Duke Whitely?" he exclaimed, his eyes turning wide. The concierge bowed his head and backed up nervously. Duke swung his head with faux enthusiasm to face his client and best friend's ex-boyfriend.

"Hi, Hummel," he said through a grinning set of gritted teeth. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"Uhm. Yes, likewise," Kurt said, still shocked. "So…you…you guys just arrived today," he added bluntly, standing board-stiff, fiddling with his sunglasses. Hiss Jacobs bag was slung on his right shoulder.

"Affirmative," Duke nodded again awkwardly.

The concierge spoke up, his voice slightly rising nervously, "Why don't you two gentlemen take a seat while I re-check the party information and the Anderson bags are being brought upstairs?"

"Of course," Kurt said stiffly, moving towards the couches as quickly as possible, as Duke followed behind, cursing himself internally.

The two took their respective seats on the guest couches and it took a few minutes before Kurt spoke up.

"Where is he?"

"At the hospital," Duke shrugged.

Kurt's eyes widened in panic. "_What_?"

"Danielle…um…got into a little accident earlier," Duke muttered shamefully, "I forgot to let the bellboy open the door first, so I kind-a threw the door open unceremoniously and the doorknob on the inside really rammed her nose pretty hard. I was going to go and let Blaine check into the hotel in my stead, but he insisted on going. You know how much he loves that kid."

"I know," Kurt nodded, no feeling emitting from him whatsoever.

Silence.

"What a Neanderthal move, Whitely," Kurt smirked, placing his sunglasses on his head, tapping his foot impatiently. "I thought you would have just a_ tad _bit more class."

Duke sighed in relief. "Eh, I try," he shrugged. "So, how's…how's the fashion line?"

"Going very well, actually."

"Broadway?"

"I've been getting rave reviews, of course. It's the off-season at the moment. We start rehearsals again soon."

"Of course."

More silence.

"That's really good to know," Duke nodded, his head bobbing up and down. _Oh, you stupid concierge, what the hell? You are taking for-fucking-ever. _

"How is he?" Kurt asked, blinking quickly.

"To find a simple way to describe him…well, there's just no _simple way_," Duke frowned. "If I had to pick one word, I guess it would be…_coping_. He's just…you know, living and writing music and keeping in contact with his parents and his little sister."

"I see."

Kurt was speechless. The words stung him, and he felt as if his tears were begging for him to let them go. _No. Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, you will not cry. Not here._ He slammed down his sunglasses, and lucky for him, his cell phone started to ring loudly: _Teenage Dream._ _Well, damn, that gave everything away._

Duke raised a speculative eyebrow as Kurt answered his phone quickly.

"Jamie. Yes…? Oh, okay, good. You locked up, right? Are all of the clothes kept in their proper cases? … Uh-huh. Alright! Thanks a bunch, girl. Have a good day off tomorrow, and see you at the party," he said quickly, hanging up. He placed the iPhone carefully in his bag.

"Mr. Hummel, everything is confirmed. What time will your decoration committee be arriving at the ballroom?" the concierge asked from the front desk. Kurt walked over in a huff, giving Duke a quick nod of recognition. Duke saluted back awkwardly.

"We'll be arriving at noon to get ready," he heard Kurt tell the concierge.

"What about your musical entertainment?"

"I presume he'll be arriving at four-thirty p.m., sharp," Kurt sighed, looking over at Duke, who nodded quickly. "As well as my assistant. She'll be overseeing the final details and additions to the ballroom."

"May I have her name, sir?"

"Jamie Lewis. Twenty-five. Dark hair, always clipped up. Anyway, she's easy to recognize because she wears a Pavarotti I.D. around her neck at all times while doing business for me."

"Yes," the concierge nodded, taking note of everything. "Thank you, Mr. Hummel," he added.

"You're very welcome," Kurt said offhandedly, and walked away without saying goodbye to Duke.

_Dear sweet baby Jesus_, Duke thought, taken aback completely.

As he walked out of the hotel, Kurt quickly pulled out his phone and dialed the first number at the top of his head.

* * *

><p>"Coward."<p>

"Whatever," Blaine muttered as the doctor left their little room in the hospital. Danielle's nose was already x-rayed and they were waiting for the results. She looked just a _little _ridiculous; there were cotton balls stuffed nearly halfway up her nose to stop the blood from falling, and she had to change them every few minutes.

"What the hell happened back there?" Danielle hissed, aiming a kick at him. "Clearly, you saw Kurt. Why didn't you go for him when you had the chance?"

"The timing didn't feel right," Blaine snapped back. She rolled her eyes.

"You know how I told you that I'd never call you a pansy? Well, this is the only time I ever will, unless you skip out on talking to him again." Danielle muttered, "You cowardly pansy."

"Oh, stop it," he grumbled, falling back onto a visitor's chair. "Fine. Call me a pansy."

"Pansy," Danielle frowned.

"Why, thank you."

"I laugh at your cowardice," she snapped.

"I laugh at your face," Blaine stuck his tongue out. "Dan, you look like you came out of Saw."

"I try," she simpered, her eyebrows furrowing. "Listen, punch Duke in the face for me later? Please?"

"Of course," he shrugged.

"You should really talk to Kurt. Like, I think you should stick to sleeping in the Palace lobby and wait for him until he comes back there Sunday afternoon."

"That's totally going creeper status," Blaine frowned, disgusted. "I didn't even know that the party would _be _there."

"I think Duke forgot to tell you."

"Remind me to punch him later?"

"See, I told you," she giggled. "You should, just to see what happens."

"I don't even threaten people, much less physically maim them," he smirked.

Danielle sighed, and hopped off the bed, and sat next to her older brother, putting her head on his shoulder. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"I will say this only once. I never said it over the phone, because I would have run out of minutes and not know about the rest of your cool celebrity life. But, buckeye, I know you're stronger than this," she began. "You've gone through so much, and dealt with so much. You went through bullies, name-calling, beat-ups, swimming in trashcans, transferring schools—you even _went through dad_. Those things were more life threatening and mentally hardcore. You love Kurt. He made you happy, and you made him happy. I could see. Remember when you guys went to help me get ready for my prom?"

Blaine smiled, remembering the day: makeup, – lots of makeup – hairstyles, dress adjustments, and Dani's prom date having oddly spiked hair (Blaine _and _Kurt had given the boy a lecture. Inside, Blaine was happy she and the boy ended up breaking up).

"You two just looked at each other, and I could see that. Dude, I was seventeen, and I could tell so easily. The way you talked to each other, the way you teased each other. It looked and seemed so natural to me. It was something I was a bit jealous of for a while, but then I ignored it, because my older brother was finally fucking happy," she exclaimed, sitting up to face him directly. Blaine was about to speak when she held up a hand to silence him, "You will not interrupt me again. I was tired of you calling me every week, saying that _this _boy didn't like you, or _that _boy was gay, but already had a boyfriend, or liked another one and called you a hobbit.

"But about Kurt! When you called me after Valentine's Day your junior year, you were freaking out because this boy actually liked you. You knew his coffee order, Blaine. You still fucking know his coffee order, I think. You told him _'courage.'_ Yeah, Kurt told me. You always fucking told him: '_Courage, Kurt._' Where's your courage now, buckeye? No one's threatening to beat you up this time. You're beating yourself up right now, letting yourself watch the boy who truly loves you get married to a douche-looking wannabe Abercrombie model."

Blaine was speechless. He saw his sister's eyes glossing over. "Dani—"

"Don't _'Dani'_ me," she snapped, pointing a finger threateningly. "You are extremely lucky we are in a hospital. I would be yelling at you right now."

"Dani, I'm sorry," Blaine mumbled, pulling her into a tight hug. Danielle was about to speak when the curtains of their room were pulled open. The siblings jumped apart.

"_Anak! Okay lang 'ka? Hay naku!_" Maria Anderson exclaimed in full-out Filipino, rushing to Danielle. "_Blaine! Anong ginagawa 'mo, ha?_ Why didn't you watch your sister? _Lagot 'ka sa 'kin!_" she scolded Blaine. (_**Translation: **__Baby, are you okay? Oh my God – Blaine! What did you do, huh? _Why didn't you watch your sister? _You better watch out or you'll be in big trouble, mister!_)

"Mom, I'm okay!" Danielle exclaimed, standing up as her mother threw her arms around her. Their father, James Anderson, tall, haughty, and white-haired, entered, shaking his head and laughing.

"Maria, I think Danielle needs to breathe," Mr. Anderson smirked, patting his son on the back. "Blaine, Duke told us you were here, so we just dropped our bags off with him as soon as we got there and went straight here."

"You know that it was Duke who broke my nose," Danielle muttered. Mrs. Anderson was still examining her daughter's face from top to bottom, left to right. "Mom, I think you can stop now. I'm okay."

"Duke forgot that bellboys open the door for you here," Blaine laughed. "I was behind him, so I didn't see Dani walking to the door."

"I'm _okay_!" Dani exclaimed. Mrs. Anderson looked up at her daughter, who was three inches taller than her.

"_Anak_, you just broke your nose. Do you need me to teach Duke Whitely a lesson?" she snapped.

"Ma, it was an accident," Danielle groaned.

"It was, I swear," Blaine said, holding up his hands, trying to calm his mother's anger. _Nothing is worse than a pissed-off Filipino mother_, he thought nervously.

"Honey, I think we should wait for the doctor," Mr. Anderson muttered, sitting down on the chair Danielle was on previously.

"If you're okay, then why do you look like you were crying?" Mrs. Anderson said, panicking.

"Nothing! Mom, wouldn't you cry if you nearly broke your nose?" Danielle huffed, folding her arms.

The doctor walked in, bewildered at the shouts.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I presume?" he asked, holding a manila folder – probably Danielle's x-rays.

"Yes. Is my daughter going to be alright?" Mrs. Anderson asked, frowning. The doctor nodded, smiling brightly.

"Just a clean break. It'll heal in about a week."

"_Ay, Jesus_," their mother sighed in relief. The doctor handed Mr. Anderson the x-rays and nodded, handing them the medical bill.

"Duke and Sony are going to handle this, right?" he muttered to Blaine, who nodded quickly.

"Of course, Dad."

"Well, let's go," Maria said hurriedly, ushering Danielle out of the hospital room.

Blaine and his father walked out slowly, following Mrs. Anderson and Danielle ("Let me get you some ice for that! _Hay naku!_ You are so careless, _anak_!").

"So, how are you?" Mr. Anderson asked, clearing his throat. "First concert, huh, son?"

Blaine nodded. "Yeah. I'm actually pretty excited about this," he shrugged. His father put his arm over his shoulder.

"You should be. You deserve this after everything you've gone through to get to this point," Mr. Anderson smiled at his son, their hazel eyes meeting. Blaine grinned.

His relationship with his father was not a perfect one. Yes, his father had a harder time dealing with Blaine's…_sexuality_…than Kurt's dad had – he had attempted to 'turn him straight' by teaching him how to fix a car, how to play football instead of singing and playing instruments – the list was a very long one indeed. But, it was after Kurt had Burt talk to him just a few weeks after Blaine introduced Kurt to his parents that James started to come around. Another thing Kurt did for him. It took a while, but Mr. James Anderson finally accepted his son…and the boy his son loved.

"Thanks, dad," Blaine mumbled.

"Let's head back to the damn hotel already so you can finally get some rest. Danielle called me the other day and told me how much they've been working you for this tour," his dad grunted, leading his son out of the hospital and into a new car. Their bodyguard was already in the other car from earlier, ready to follow them.

"What time is it, dad?" Danielle asked as they entered the car, looking at herself in the car window.

"About one p.m.," Mr. Anderson responded, looking at his watch.

"Blaine, did you eat already?" his mother asked.

"Bee, let's go get some pizza," Danielle exclaimed.

"I'm not in the mood for pizza, though," Blaine groaned, leaning back in his seat.

"Let's go get pizza," his father nodded in agreement with Danielle, who stuck her tongue out at her older brother.

"Whatever, Rudolph," Blaine smirked, gesturing towards his sister's nose. "And that was highly immature. Are you really turning 21 soon?"

"I'd make a cute reindeer," Danielle pouted, frowning as the car headed back to the Palace. "Yes, I'm going to be 21 year-old, highly immature reindeer, buckeye, so shut up."

* * *

><p>Kurt had no idea why he wanted to meet his assistant at the nearest coffee house. It was instinct, pure instinct to call her since there was obviously no one else available.<p>

"Sir? …Kurt?" She tapped his shoulder. Kurt turned around and smiled. She was wearing a powder-blue dress and a blue headband and pumps to match. Her Pavarotti I.D. was still around her neck.

"Jamie! Take a seat," he said, gesturing towards the empty chair in front of him. "Thanks for coming again. I know you were supposed to be resting and such before Sunday, but I…I just needed to take you up on your offer for an ear. Or just a regular conversation."

"It's no problem, Kurt," she nodded quickly, sitting down. "If you don't mind, I'll have to leave in three hours; a friend and I are going to watch a concert tonight at Madison Square."

Kurt became rigid. "Oh, I see. I'll just take a few minutes of your time, if that's alright," he shrugged, fingering the holder of his coffee mug. "I guess it's also good for me to get to know you as well, so we won't just have that ridiculous only-business relationship. I've heard it's unhealthy."

Jamie smiled, adjusting her black, thin-rimmed glasses. "I actually don't mind. What is it that you need to talk to me about?"

"Okay. First, the boundaries of this conversation: no business, unless I mention it, and if you do, I will throw the nearest barista at you."

"Alright."

"In the case that I _do _mention the line or Pavarotti or anything, _you _will throw the nearest barista at _me._"

She smirked.

"If you see any paparazzi, or suspicious-looking people nearby, warn me, and we'll jet out of here faster than Al Capone at Alcatraz."

"There are barely any people here," she laughed. They were seated in the back of the coffee shop.

"Okay," Kurt huffed, leaning forward on the table. "Jamie, where are you from? You don't seem like the 'true' New Yorker – you know, the stereotypes."

He smiled, sipping his drink. Jamie laughed.

"I'm from Florida. My mom's a fashion designer down there, but she doesn't own a big brand like you do. She wanted me to go to Florida State, but I wanted to come here to New York to try and work for a major brand. So, I picked NYU because it was one of my main choices."

"So you decided to intern for me, when you could have for so many other people."

"I could tell you had promise," she said embarrassingly, fiddling with her bracelets.

"Why, thank you," Kurt said, surprised. "Got a boy back home?"

"Used to," she muttered. "We split last spring."

"Girl, what was he like?"

"Sweet…charming…good-looking. You know, what every girl looks for in a guy," she muttered. Kurt nodded, pursing his lips together. "We split because…because, well, after I moved here, I guess one of the girls there, my _neighbor_, started to show her fancy for him and, well, I found out that he had been cheating on me for over a year or two."

"Bull_shit_!" Kurt exclaimed quietly, frowning.

"Well, I have moved on with my life," she said quickly, still fiddling with her accessories. "He called me a workaholic and everything under the sun," she whispered. "I told him that the reason for our breakup was that I had to work hard and find myself first, and that if my work was in vain, or anything like that, because he was cheating on me, there was no reason for us to continue, as in the case for most relationships these days."

* * *

><p>"<em>Blaine, I've realized that we haven't been spending as much time together as we should. I've been busy launching my line, and juggling my Broadway duties, and my relationship, and they're really straining me. I haven't had the chance to…you know, think of myself."<em>

* * *

><p>Kurt nodded, feeling a bit uneasy. As she talked, her voice became a low buzz in his ears.<p>

"…And that's about it," she finished, sighing.

"Jamie, have you ever done anything you regret, anything you want to take back and just…fix it?"

"Plenty of times," she shrugged. She raised her eyebrows at Kurt, whose eyes were glossing over.

"Kurt?" she said gently, reaching out for his hand. "What's wrong?"

* * *

><p>"<em>There's no need to talk. I've grown up. I'm not that baby penguin, the boy you fell in love with five years ago. My feelings have been fading. I don't love you anymore."<em>

* * *

><p>"Three years ago, I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I can't fix it anymore," Kurt murmured, a tear falling down his cheek. Jamie quickly reached into her purse for a Kleenex tissue and handed it to him. He took it and wiped his eyes.<p>

"Blaine Anderson," she blinked. Kurt nodded.

"He was never my mistake; my decision was. I don't know what made me do it, break up with him," he said angrily, folding his arms. "I guess it was me, just…just being afraid."

"Of what?"

"Life, I guess, that he'd find someone else while I was in New York launching my careers, while he was in California, recording his EPs and albums. I didn't want to feel so far away from someone, and feel so lonely here. I put my dreams before him, too. I was such a bitch," he frowned deeply. "I could have gone right back to him, turned that taxi around and told him. I didn't want him leaving California for me. I knew how much he wanted that record label to hire him. He knew how much I wanted to go to Broadway. I knew he would follow me, so I…I ended it. I said horrible things to him, such…such horrible things."

Jamie was left speechless.

"He promised to watch my first show on Broadway when we graduated from UCLA. He was going to bring me lilies of the valley," he continued, his heart feeling heavier. "Instead, Anthony brought me roses. Red roses. It was after I had met him."

"Kurt, why are you marrying Anthony, then?" Jamie asked, clearly confused.

"I just figured…that if I could have someone here who would care for me, then I wouldn't feel so alone. I broke Blaine up, and myself in the process, and I don't think that anything will make it better anymore. Anthony basically cared."

"But…do you love him? Anthony?"

"Yes, yes I do," Kurt whispered.

Jamie's eyes widened. "Mr. Hummel, I think you're making a big mistake here."

"No. Blaine would never take me back, so I'm going to marry Anthony. He loves me," Kurt nodded curtly.

"Don't add this to your list of regrets," Jamie begged. "You work best when you're in your element, wow buyers more when you're happy."

"Don't make me throw a barista at you. I'll just ask one of them to come over, lift him or her up, then throw him or her at you," Kurt laughed weakly. "After the wedding, I will rid myself of Blaine and everything about him."

"You're going to be exposed to him anyway. He's all over the music news and his album's nearing number one on _Billboard_."

"I'll ignore mainstream music, then," he said dramatically, sipping his coffee again. "I listen to Broadway original soundtracks, after all."

"You can't ignore him forever, or forget about him," she hissed. "Sir, you are a conflicted little soul."

"I know," Kurt sighed, leaning back in his seat, "Dramatic, too. I guess that's why the produces of _Wicked _hired me. My range of emotional depth is quite the enigma, you know. That's why I usually give people snarky comments just so they could stop questioning me every other day."

"Relationships that result in marriage aren't supposed to be platonic," Jamie sighed. "You'll be hurting Anthony if you marry him without loving him as much as you love Blaine."

"I love Anthony, Jamie Lewis," Kurt snapped. "I really do. He helped me get over…Blaine."

"You just told me approximately five minutes ago that Blaine promised to give you lilies of the valley, but Anthony gave you roses instead. That doesn't sound like you're over him. Sounds like you would have wanted the lilies instead."

"Roses are a symbol of romance, particularly red ones," Kurt frowned, his face turning red. "Anthony took care of me, Jamie, and in more ways than you'll ever know. Particularly emotionally."

"What does your stepbrother think?"

"Finn?" Kurt laughed, "He nearly beat up Anthony the first time I introduced them to each other."

"Why?" Jamie smirked, adjusting her glasses.

"Don't ask me, ask him. Anthony was being a perfect gentleman." Kurt furrowed his eyebrows.

"Parents?"

"They're coming to the party."

"Best friend?"

"Mercedes? Oh, uhm, she's in Ohio, visiting family, so she's not going to make it to the party. Visiting them with her fiancé."

"Rachel Berry?"

"In London."

"Don't you see, Kurt? They believe that you and Blaine can make it work."

"Where in this conversation have I said that?" Kurt said warily. "I just said that Finn and Annie don't particularly get along, and Mercedes and Rachel are doing their thing and whatnot."

"Maybe Finn hates him, your parents are coming just to make you happy, and Mercedes doesn't want to go because she hates Anthony as well."

"You clever child," Kurt muttered.

"Go with me to his concert tonight at Madison."

"I thought you were going with a friend," Kurt said suspiciously.

"My friend texted me five minutes ago, saying that she caught the flu," Jamie smirked, handing him her phone.

_J – can't make it, sick. _

"You sly little fox," Kurt frowned. "No, thank you."

"You will go to the concert," she smiled, pulling a ticket out of her bag, holding it out to him.

"Or I'll just wait until that humiliating moment when he walks on stage at Anthony and me's party on Sunday night."

"Your choice," she sighed, putting the ticket back in her bag.

"I'm done for the day," Kurt sighed, standing up. "Thanks, Jamie. I've got to run."

"Alright," Jamie muttered, nodding to her boss; she did not want to press him further.

* * *

><p><strong>a few hours later ** **The Palace Hotel**

"Blaine, have you decided what to wear yet, _anak_?" Mrs. Anderson exclaimed from the bedroom of their suite. Blaine looked up from his guitar and put it on a stand, walking over to his mother.

"I think I'm going to wear that shirt with that black cardigan," he shrugged, checking to make sure the colors didn't clash. He found another possible buttoned-down shirt among his things and picked it up. "Mom, deep red or white?"

His mother thought for a moment, looking from each shirt to another. "White, I suggest. It looks better."

"Yeah, I was thinking that as well," Blaine grinned, re-folding the red shirt and placing it back in his luggage bag.

"You could also match it with black slacks and those nice shoes over there," she suggested, pointing towards his bag full of shoes. "Also, you could try to put a black bow on the collar. It would look very cute."

"Classy," Blaine agreed, and hung everything together.

"Are you ready for tonight, Blaine?" she asked, standing up, adjusting his arrangement on the hanger.

"I am, albeit being a little nervous," he laughed, sitting on the bed. "It's my first major concert, after all, and it's at Madison Square Garden."

"So many years ago, before you were born, your father took me here to watch Journey when he first brought me here from Manila," Mrs. Anderson began, sitting next to him. "Now, my son is performing here, almost twenty seven years later. I couldn't be more proud."

"I love you, mom," Blaine smiled, kissing her cheek.

"I love you too, sweetheart," she laughed, punching him playfully on the shoulder. "Go gel your hair. You need a haircut."

"I know," Blaine mumbled, running a hand through his curly hair. "I never had time back in San Francisco."

"Go get ready now," she snapped, still grinning. "I'll meet you in the living room at five-thirty. Press conference, here we come!"

"Okay, mom," Blaine nodded as his mother walked out of the room.

His phone began to ring.

"Hello?" he asked tiredly.

"_Blaine," _Duke muttered.

"What is it, D?"

"_I didn't tell you this earlier, but…um, I saw Kurt while you guys were at the hospital._"

"I saw him enter the Palace."

"_Yeah. About that. The party is here on Sunday night."_

"I figured that out three hours ago, thank you very much.'

"_Why didn't you head back in when you saw him?"_

"My sister comes first."

"_He was freaking out when I said you were at the hospital._"

"Duke, what the hell? Can you just come to our suite? You're just making your phone bill get bigger."

"_Oh. Yeah. Right,"_ Duke muttered, and hung up the phone with a click. In no time, the doorbell of the suite rang, and Duke hurried in after greeting Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, and apologizing quickly to Danielle, who was yelling at him. Slamming the door of the bedroom behind him, Duke sighed in relief. Danielle was _still _yelling.

"That's what you get for not letting bellboys open the door for you at hotels," Blaine said amusedly.

"I realized that," Duke frowned, and he threw himself on the bed, exhausted.

"Get off my bed, Duke," Blaine groaned. "It's messed up now."

"Kurt likes you still," Duke teased. "I talked to him earlier."

"Whatever," Blaine frowned.

"He asked about you."

"Again, whatever," Blaine responded icily, grabbing his hanger of clothes and walking into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

"He also has been working out, I think."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Blaine shouted from the bathroom, his voice muffled as he put on his new shirt and sweater. "I read _Vogue_, you know!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, Blaine. I just wanted to tell you that, and you are due downstairs in approximately an hour. Conference room, okay?" Duke shouted back, standing up and stretching. "Now, I'm going to run out of here before Danielle shoots me in the head with something sharp and pointy."

Duke ran out of the suite with lightning speed, not forgetting to politely say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and Danielle.

* * *

><p>"Blaine!"<p>

"Mr. Anderson!"

"How do you feel about performing at Madison Square Garden?"

"Can you confirm whether or not you will start a world tour?"

"How do you like New York?"

"After winning a Grammy, and being nominated for another this year for Album of the Year, what are you going to do?"

Blaine walked onto a small stage, camera bulbs flashing everywhere. He took a seat on the center of the table placed aptly on the stage. Next to him were Duke, the head of Sony Records, USA, and other people involved with the tour and the record company. His parents and sister were standing by the stage, excited. He felt a bit overwhelmed; fans on the street before had stopped him, asking him for his autograph politely, but a press conference seemed so surreal to him. Paparazzi were shouting out questions and holding out microphones in their seats.

The security guards were stationed directly in front of the stage in a military-like stance.

The head of Sony stood up, and silence automatically filled the room. Microphones were held up eagerly as the boss picked up his microphone.

"Good evening, everyone! Welcome to the New York press conference for Blaine Anderson's first tour!" he exclaimed. More camera bulbs went off. "Now, we open the floor to questions."

The reporters buzzed with excitement as Blaine smiled brightly. Hands shot into the air, and the boss called on the first reporter.

"Blaine, what do you say about the rumors that you are going to collaborate with another award-winning singer, Adele?"

"Well, it's in the works, actually," Blaine shrugged. "I'd be honored to work with her. She's incredibly talented; one of my favorite singers on this planet, ever."

"Also, what do you say about your Grammy nominations?"

"I'm actually pretty excited for this year's award ceremony, but so many talented artists are up for Album of the Year, so you never know."

He picked another reporter.

"Blaine, please explain what you're going to do next! We hear that you're also going to help with a performance at Disney World this summer as a guest star in one of their major productions!"

"Yes, about that," Duke interjected, "it's in the works."

"I've performed at theme parks before—especially during my high school years along with doing show choir at my school, so it's pretty fun to be going back to my roots."

More reporters raised their hands, and they called on them one by one. A vast majority of them dealt with his tours, awards, his family, and his concert. It was when Blaine came to a young woman in a dark-blue off-shoulder shirt and red-rimmed glasses. He didn't have time to ask where she was from, and who sent her, when she asked her question.

"Can you confirm or deny the rumors that you'll be performing at Kurt Hummel and Anthony Marksman's engagement party Sunday night?" she asked immediately. Blaine was taken aback, nodded and responded,

"Yes," he shrugged. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I _am _going to perform."

The roar of the paparazzi grew, and many other questions were being shot at him.

About Kurt. Again.

"Have you been in contact with him?"

"How do you feel about their apparent engagement?"

"How do you feel about his choice of partner?"

"Do you still have feelings for him?"

"Tell us about your song, _Jealousy. _Is it about him?"

He had enough. Blaine stood up, and walked off-stage in frustration, and then walked out of the conference room, slamming the door. Groaning, Duke followed him as the manager quickly announced the abrupt end of the press conference and said his apologies. Dani stood up and followed as well, despite her parents telling her to stay put. Immediately, the guards ran for the door so that the paparazzi wouldn't follow him.

"Blaine," Duke and Danielle said at the same time, when they saw Blaine sitting at the foot of the back stairs of the hotel. They just knew.

"Let's go upstairs," Dani whispered, "Let's get you freshened up before the concert, okay?"

"I'll work on damage control," Duke sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. He rushed back down the stairs as Danielle helped Blaine up and brought him back to their suite.

The ride up the elevator was a silent one, indeed. Dani handed a handkerchief to her brother, who took it gratefully, wiping his eyes gently.

"I'm here," she whispered, rubbing his back gently. "Fuck them, fuck the paparazzi."

"Duke told me not to give a damn," Blaine whispered as they arrived at the fourteenth floor. She took his hand and they walked to the hotel room. "I really tried. I tried so hard."

"I know you did, Bee," Danielle said as she unlocked the room. They both walked in and sat on the living room couches. "I think mom and dad are trying to get up here, but the reporters are blocking the way."

"I was trying to be polite, you know?"

"You always are," she sighed, leaning back on her chair. "Politeness. A quality I will never have."

"I hate reporters."

"Me, too."

"How did they find out about me performing at Kurt's party?"

"News travels fast around the Big Apple, apparently," Danielle said bitterly, her hazel eyes glinting. "Come on. Let's get you ready for tonight."

Blaine nodded, standing up. "Thank you," he nodded to his sister. She smiled, and pushed him gently to get ready. The bedroom door closed with a click, and the front door opened to reveal Duke.

"Where are our parents?" she asked, arms folded. Duke sighed.

"The security guards are bringing them to MSG already. It's too difficult to bring them up here now."

"Thanks," Dani muttered, looking away.

"I'm sorry about your nose again," Duke said sincerely, sitting down next to her. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay. It'll heal in a week," she shrugged, looking at him.

"How's Canada?"

"A trip, compared to Ohio."

"That's good. What are you majoring in again?"

"Mass communications, with a focus in journalism," she smiled. "I'm graduating this year. Planning to intern for CNN or something."

"That's good."

"Okay, this is awkward," Danielle laughed, touching her fingers to her forehead. She lowered her voice. "Thanks for what you're doing for Blaine. He really needs a push. Especially for things like this. As he gets more famous, people are going to be digging into his personal life even more. It pains me to say this – especially since he's gay. It's harder, you know?"

"Yeah," Duke nodded.

"I heard that you and I agree on a lot of things about him."

"The Kurt situation, his situation, yeah, _a lot_," Duke sniggered. Danielle punched him gently.

"Okay, fine, just those two things. But anyway, aren't you supposed to be at MSG yourself?"

"_I_, young lady, am his manager, therefore I have the right to go with him to avoid any other, um, accidents."

"That's a very funny word to describe the situation," Danielle said suspiciously, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Whatever, kid."

"I'm turning twenty-one, thank you very much."

"Oh, drinking age—you are definitely a woman," Duke simpered.

The door to the bedroom opened and there stood Blaine, still in his black cardigan, his hair gelled to perfection, his black slacks changed into black, tight skinny jeans, and he wore basic black and white converse. His face was clear of any panic and tears, and was holding his guitar case in his right hand.

"Hot. That's my bro," Danielle whistled. "Okay, let's go."

"Are you sure this is okay?" he asked, twirling around.

"You'll charm the ladies _and _the men," Duke said hurriedly. "Let's go _now_!"

The three stood up and hurried out of the hotel room – Danielle not forgetting to lock it. When they arrived at the elevator, two reporters (one a cameraman and the same, blue-shirted girl with the red glasses) appeared behind the staircase, and ran towards the trio.

"Blaine!" the girl exclaimed. The elevator opened with a _ding_, and Duke pushed Danielle and Blaine in quickly.

"The guard is downstairs! Go!" he exclaimed.

"What about you?" Blaine shouted as the door began to close.

"I'll catch up," Duke yelled, blocking the way of the reporter. "I'll be down in a second!"

The elevator door closed, and the siblings were already on their way downstairs. "I hope he catches up soon," Dani sighed, leaning on an elevator rail. "Poor guy. He's got some balls. Never knew he had it in him."

"This is beginning to piss me off," Blaine groaned, sitting down on the elevator floor, hugging his guitar case. "I hope it's not like this in every state we go to…"

"You're going to have to deal with all of this shit either way," Danielle frowned. "You're lucky I'm here for this concert. You only have Duke for the other ones, buckeye, so you better be careful. That was insane, running out of the press conference."

Fifth floor.

"I couldn't take it," Blaine muttered, staring at a point on the floor. "I was getting really fucking tired of all of these references to Kurt and his _marriage_."

Third floor.

"You'll face your fears of confronting him on Sunday, and knowing Kurt, he'll face his fears of talking to you, and he'll leave Anthony. I just know it," Danielle said sternly.

Second floor.

"It's not really a fearof confronting both Kurt and Anthony and supposedly getting Kurt back," Blaine began, "it's more of a fear of facing the music, facing those emotions again, and dealing with them right after if this all doesn't work out."

_First floor_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> 17 whopping pages on Microsoft Word. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I heartily promise that next chapter is Blaine's concert _and the _Kurt/Anthony engagement party. I hope all of you guys will continue to follow the story until its end! 100+ alerts and 60+ favorites! I am still so giddy about this whole experience. Tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is welcome, and flames will be used to cook my fried chicken, as said before.

Oh, and the Filipino dialogue...I may be Filipino, but I was raised on an American base in Japan, so my Filipino sucks and is limited to what I learned from my mother. To my readers here in the Philippines, sorry. Haha. Please correct my translation and my grammar. I had to ask my mother what "_Lagot 'ka sa 'kin!_" meant among other things.

Just wondering, if you guys _could _pick, would you prefer Duke/Dani, or Duke/Jamie? I already have the story in my head and I know who's going to be with whom, but here's a little fun poll :)

Read and review!

Love,  
>Sam<p>

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee.


	4. Word Is On The Street

_you'll charm the ladies and the men. let's go now!_

**CHAPTER **four  
><em>Word is on the street<em>  
>of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You<br>by littlemusings

* * *

><p><em>For later reference – depending on the scene;<em>

**Bold **– Jamie or another character's texts [depending on the situation]

_Italicized _– Kurt's texts

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee, nor do I own any of the songs featured in this chapter. There is no copyright infringement intended, and the lyrics are property of their respective artists and their respective record labels. Any songs that are claimed to be written by the characters in the story or the author are not the characters' or author's property (trolololol).

**Slight Warnings: **Angsty!Blaine, Anderson!Fighting, and PMSlike!Kurt are obviously apparent in specific parts.

* * *

><p><strong>friday night, continued<strong>

"I knew you were coming," Jamie said brightly as she opened the door to her apartment enthusiastically. Kurt muttered something about _telling Anthony that he was going to the studio again_, and walked in stiffly. He placed his favorite Jacobs bag down on her coffee table and sat on the plastic-covered couch.

Her apartment was miniature in size, and was covered in blue. _This is her favorite color, I'm guessing_, Kurt thought amusedly as Jamie went to the kitchen and brought him a sandwich. Kurt took it gratefully and set it next to his bag, sighing. "You have a lovely apartment. It's pretty vintage-looking," he said finally after a five-minute silence, trying the sandwich she gave him. Chicken.

"Thank you," she laughed, leaning back on her couch. "Pardon the plastic. I just moved in, so I haven't quite finished making everything perfect."

"Don't worry about it," Kurt smiled. He looked up at her small television and nearly gagged on his sandwich. There was Blaine, on local news, live from the Palace Hotel.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, I forgot that was on," Jamie exclaimed, quickly reaching for the remote, but Kurt grabbed it before she could. After turning up the volume, he stuffed the remote under the couch plastic and stared at the screen intently. Jamie bit her lip and looked at her boss nervously, ready to comfort him if needed.

"_I'm actually pretty excited for this year's award ceremony, but so many talented artists are up for Album of the Year, so you never know."_

_Always humble, huh, Blaine?_ Kurt looked at his ex-boyfriend's face with simple curiosity. He was still the same – his curly hair was gelled down – and his fashion sense had not changed. It was still impeccable, but he could have done with a different-colored bow tie. Blaine was still the private school boy he loved, or, as he liked to think, _used _to love. It was so strange, seeing someone so familiar and someone he loved on television (the only exceptions being Rachel or Finn). The only thing different about him was his face. It was more defined, his cheekbones a bit more hollow, and his eyes seemed to shine out even more than before. Fame had done him good, Kurt believed, but he knew that inside he had broken Blaine.

"_Blaine, please explain what you're going to do next! We hear that you're also going to help with a performance at Disney World this summer as a guest star in one of their major productions!"_

"_Yes, about that – it's in the works,_" he saw Duke, who pulled Blaine's microphone to him. Oh, Duke.

"_I've performed at theme parks before—especially during my high school years along with doing show choir at my school, so it's pretty fun to be going back to my roots." _

Blaine was smiling brilliantly at the press. He was born to be famous; it seemed like it.

"Six Flags," Kurt remembered, biting his lip. Jamie looked at her boss curiously.

"_Can you confirm or deny the rumors that you'll be performing at Kurt Hummel and Anthony Marksman's engagement party Sunday night?"_

That was the moment when Kurt wanted to throw what was left of his sandwich at the television screen. He heard more of the questions and they were all centered on him, _Kurt_. It was so hard watching Blaine struggle with the questions.

And that was when he saw him walk out of the press conference room. Kurt pulled out the remote and turned off the television, leaning back on the couch.

"I think we should go," Jamie said quickly, grabbing her purse. Kurt looked at her numbly, nodded, and grabbed his bag as he stood up. He picked up the plate he used, but Jamie took it quickly and hurried to the kitchen to dispose of it.

_He hates me_, Kurt thought worriedly. Jamie re-appeared.

"Let's go?" she asked nervously. Kurt agreed and followed her out of the apartment.

* * *

><p>"Look at that line," Danielle whistled as they neared Madison Square Garden. Blaine stared out the window and his jaw dropped.<p>

"Oh my God," Duke exclaimed, rolling down the window as quickly as possible. (He had escaped the paparazzi woman by throwing her fifty dollars and dashing down fourteen flights of stairs to meet up with Danielle and Blaine. He made it just as Blaine was about to close the limo door.) He stared in awe.

The line at Madison Square Garden snaked from the entrance through two (or maybe more) blocks and behind another building nearby. Fans were waiting patiently in line to get in, and even though the doors had been open for nearly two hours, it seemed, from the trio's point of view in the limo, that even if the seats were sold out, people were still going to try and get into MSG to watch Blaine's concert.

"Compare that to Six Flags," Danielle said happily as they pulled up to the front of Madison Square Garden. Duke immediately rolled up the window and several bodyguards took their place by the limo.

"Why aren't we going through a back entrance?" Blaine laughed, his heart beating quickly. "I thought it's safer to go through the back."

"There are people blocking the entrance, and since there are more proper lines here, they thought it best for you to make a big entrance," Duke grinned from ear-to-ear. The limo stopped. "The people in the front of the line have VIP seats, I think, so I guess they'll be less erratic."

The screams grew louder as the limo doors opened. Danielle grabbed her brother's hand and pulled him out of the limo. A security guard went to the back of the limo and pulled out Blaine's guitar and handed it to him. Blaine gripped his guitar case tightly as the screams erupted. Guards rushed to hold back the lines, and they quickly ushered him down. He waved to his fans enthusiastically, and when they thought the screams wouldn't get louder, they did. They were nearing the entrance when Blaine caught a glimpse of two bright blue eyes, and the eyes met his as well. He felt his heart skip a beat. Everything seemed to freeze.

He saw a pair of seemingly soft, light-pink lips.

He could only make out what it was saying.

"_Blaine._"

Blaine followed the eyes as he entered the door. When he was inside, he quickly took pictures with some of his fans on their way to their seats, and then the guards finally rushed him backstage with Duke.

"I'm going to see if mom and dad are already sitting down," Dani said quickly, and she threw on her backstage pass and ran out the door, another guard following her. Blaine sighed and leaned back in his seat, his heart still beating quickly.

"Let's get you into makeup and dress," Duke shouted, gesturing for their team to hurry.

"He's here, Duke," Blaine said, his voice becoming croaky.

"Who's what?" Duke said quickly, not paying attention.

"Kurt," Blaine whispered. Duke stopped and frowned.

"Blaine, don't let his presence beat you down. Now, come on, and let's get you into your outfit," he said gently, pulling Blaine out of his seat and into a dressing room.

* * *

><p>"Oh my God, he saw me," Kurt groaned, hitting his head on Jamie's shoulder. Once standing up straight again, Kurt quickly pulled his sunglasses out of Jamie's eyes grew wide and she strained to hear what Kurt was trying to say over the crowd as they neared the ticket collector.<p>

"Why are you wearing sunglasses now?" Jamie attempted to shout over the crowd.

Kurt quickly whipped out his phone and typed something on a text message and showed her the screen. _Do not want to be recognized. Blaine saw me!_

Jamie's mouth formed a little 'o' and she nodded fervently. "Hey, we're close to the front of the line!" she said with mock cheeriness. Kurt gave her a withering look and she rolled her eyes, hooking her arm with his. "We'll watch and once it's over, I can drive you back to your apartment right away so Anthony won't get suspicious."

_I feel so wrong doing this_, Kurt texted. Jamie sighed as the line moved closer and closer to the entrance and took Kurt's phone and typed back:

**What's the harm in watching a concert?**

_I lied to Anthony_

**Why did you lie in the first place?**

Kurt's hand froze when the phone came back to him. Why _had _he lied to Anthony? Anthony had hired Blaine for the party, so what was the harm in watching Blaine's concert? Nothing, right? _Going to the studio_, my ass. Those were the words that were probably swimming through Anthony's mind when Kurt told him. Kurt Hummel was a mastermind when it came to deception. He had fooled the majority of McKinley High School, saying that he was straight for the longest time until he came out during his sophomore year. He was hard to read. But Anthony probably saw through his façade.

_I don't know._ _Anthony knew that the concert was tonight, though but I convinced him that I feel nothing for Blaine anymore so I guess telling him I was going to the studio would convince him_

Jamie sighed and saw that they had finally reached the ticket booth. After handing back his phone, she handed her and Kurt's tickets to the cashier, and were immediately let in and ushered by a guard to the Gold-Ranking seats, where a woman was selling programs.

"Gold-rank. Nice," Kurt whistled, still trying to maintain his confidence. They were seated in the tenth row from the front, and the huge stadium seemed to swallow him up. Madison Square Garden was a giant in comparison to the Gershwin Theater.

"Dear God," Jamie said excitedly. "I can't believe I'm seeing him live for the first time!"

"I have seen him live more times than you can possibly imagine," Kurt sniffed indifferently, pulling off his sunglasses. Jamie grinned and gestured for the program seller to come to their row. Jamie quickly paid ten dollars for both of their programs and handed Kurt his.

"You know I can't bring this home."

"I'll keep it, then," Jamie smiled brightly, taking it back. Kurt took one look at the cover – it said in plain white letters on a black background:

_Blaine Anderson: _

the national tour

_Madison Square Garden_

_May 15, 2019_

"Beautifully designed cover. My favorite color scheme," Kurt said indifferently. "On second thought, I'll keep it," he added, snatching his program back from Jamie, who smirked. "I pay you enough, don't I? So I don't have to pay you back for this."

"It was five dollars," Jamie laughed, "And yes, you pay me enough, so I'm okay."

"Good, because I don't carry change around," Kurt responded. "It's just so annoying to bring around."

The stadium was nearly full when an announcer said clearly over the intercom: _The concert will begin in approximately ten minutes. Sorry for the delay, and we here at MSG hope you have a wonderful experience._ The audience cheered excitedly. Kurt looked up at the screen hanging from the ceiling. Advertisements were playing in between Blaine's songs and photo slideshows. _Still very dapper_, Kurt thought to himself amusedly. He was feeling more and more relaxed as the minutes ticked on. Blaine's voice was blaring from the speakers, and he felt calm for the first time in months – or, rather, three years.

"_The concert will begin in two minutes._"

"I'm so excited!" Jamie jumped in her seat. Kurt laughed, and cheered along with her and the crowd. His heart was racing at lightning speed, and he couldn't believe it.

"_Thirty seconds._" The announcer spoke in his head. Kurt's internal clock ticked…

Five, four, three…

* * *

><p>Blaine was ready. He knew that Kurt was in the audience, but he pushed it out of his mind, knowing that the stage was calling for him; his fans were calling for him. This was his first major concert <em>ever<em>, and he was ready to make it the best. In his Converse, tight jeans, cardigan, buttoned down shirt and dark blue bow tie and guitar in hand, he out the backstage door to enter the stadium from the regular entrance in order to surprise his fans sitting in the back, and work his way to the main stage. _This is my moment._

_This is most definitely my moment. _

One.

The guards threw open the doors to the high entrances, and fans turned around in surprise and screams erupted from all sides of the stadium. He began his latest acoustic hit, _I Must Be Dreaming._

…_and she calls me sweetheart. _

_I love it when she wakes me when it's still dark_

_And she watches the sun_

_But she's the only one I have my eyes on _

He was nearing the middle aisles. It was just his guitar and he; his fans were heartily singing along. It was pure bliss. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Blaine continued the song, all of his emotions pouring out into the chords. Kurt was here, and he wanted him to listen.

_Two kids, one love_

_Who cares if we're making it up?_

_Her voice a sweet sound,_

_Our clothes lay on the ground._

_She moves in closer,_

_Whispers: "I thought I told 'ya."_

He was nearing the Gold-Rank seats. He noticed Kurt's perfectly-coiffed hair amongst all of the others, and he saw Kurt sitting next to a girl wearing blue. The paparazzi girl from earlier? No, it couldn't be. _Keep singing, keep singing, _he thought as he approached the stage, prying his eyes away from Kurt's seat. When he finally got to the stage, he let go of his guitar and raised his hands up in the air and led the audience in an acapella round:

_Go on and tell 'em that you love me,_

_And it'll be alright_

_Are you thinking of me?_

_Just come with me tonight._

_He moves in closer_

_Can't stop, won't stop, I must be dreaming._

_Did I just say 'he'?_ Blaine panicked as he finished the song to tumultuous applause from his audience. _There's no problem with that; they know I'm gay—but I said 'he'! Here come the assumptions, shit-! _

"Hey there, everyone!" he said, attempting to channel cheeriness. The audience roared enthusiastically again. He looked down at Kurt's row, and he saw Kurt's eyes as large as the moon in panic. "How are you all tonight?"

Shouts of "Awesome," "Marry me, Blaine," and "I love you," among other things came from the crowd. Tearing his eyes away from Kurt for the last time that night, Blaine laughed and strummed his guitar softly.

"So, welcome to my first concert!" he said exuberantly, waving his hands up in the air. "I'm really excited, and I really hope you all enjoy as well. We've got a great night planned out for you!"

* * *

><p>There was no doubt about it. Blaine was still an amazing performer. Kurt knew it, being a performer himself – being Blaine's ex-boyfriend. Kurt saw him jump around the stage and be <em>one <em>with his fans, and how he felt the first time Blaine sang _'Teenage Dream'_ came back.

"I just noticed something," Jamie whispered, her voice hoarse from all the screaming as Blaine was talking (_"So today I was heading towards the hotel with my production team, and my manager, Duke opens the door and hits my little sister on the nose pretty hard!"_). "He said 'he' instead of 'she' during his opening number."

"So what? We all know he's gay," Kurt hissed, folding his arms, not taking his eyes off of Blaine.

"He was looking in our direction," Jamie said inexplicably.

"Oh, shut up," Kurt muttered, frowning, continuing to listen and laugh at Blaine's monologue.

"...So I'd like to dedicate this next song to my baby sister, Danielle, who is sitting right there in the front row. She commuted all the way from Toronto to watch tonight. And it's her 21st birthday in about a week!"

Applause erupted throughout the stadium. The cameras swung in the direction of the VIP seats, and everyone in Madison Square Garden saw Danielle Anderson broadcasted on the hanging screens. She was blushing furiously and her nose was a bit bruised. She mouthed a '_fuck you,_' to her brother and started to laugh. Next to her, they could see his parents – Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Mr. Anderson was still a bit haughty-looking, but Mrs. Anderson was beaming with pride.

"Dani, do you want to go up on stage with me?" Blaine offered, holding out his hand to her. She nodded, and the cameras swung back in the direction of the stage as Blaine pulled his little sister up and sat her down on a stool.

"She looks absolutely gorgeous," Kurt gushed enthusiastically. "I love that little black dress on her; the sequins just glimmer in the light. I'm betting it's an Alberta Ferretti dress. I can tell. I used to browse her boutiques _all the time_."

"How old is she?" Jamie asked.

"Twenty, I think. Almost twenty one."

* * *

><p>"Okay. I sang this song back in my high school days with my old show choir, the Dalton Academy Warblers, who I hear have made it to Nationals this year! It's originally by one of my favorite bands, Train."<p>

An assistant rushed up on stage and handed him a ukulele. Blaine gratefully gave his guitar to him, and the assistant gave him thumbs up and ran off-stage. And he began to play.

* * *

><p>"You're insane," Danielle laughed as Blaine arrived backstage, exhausted and sweaty, falling onto a couch immediately. His entire team clapped and cheered enthusiastically for him and patted him on the back happily. His parents ran towards him first, and his mother gave him a big kiss on the cheek, hugging him tightly. His father gave him a hug as well, and they both sat on either side of their eldest son.<p>

"That was brilliant!" Duke exclaimed, pulling Blaine off the couch. Grinning, Blaine gave his best friend a tight hug, and they let go. "I'm so proud of you, Blainers. We did it, you played at Madison Square Garden, and it was your first freakin' major concert."

"I've got cake!" his sound director, Junie, shouted, bringing in a large box.

"This is crazy, guys," Blaine laughed, walking over to Danielle and putting an arm over her. "How's the nose?" he whispered as Junie placed the box on a nearby table. Everyone dashed for the cake immediately.

"It still feels weird," Danielle muttered, "I can't scrunch it up or anything."

"It's broken, dummy," Blaine grinned, poking her cheek. They lined up in the back of the line for cake. "I'm so sleepy," he added.

"You did great, buckeye," she smiled, hugging her brother softly. "I'm proud of you too. And thanks for serenading me; that was classic."

"No problem," he responded softly. They were already at the front of the line. Danielle jumped aside as Junie gave Blaine a hug and handed him and her two slices of cake. The siblings sat down next to their parents and began eating.

"Guess who I saw in the audience?" Danielle muttered. Blaine shifted his eyes towards the floor. "I saw Kurt in the audience. I think it was during a pan of the crowd."

"I saw him, too," Blaine grumbled, leaning back on the couch.

"Kurt Hummel?" Mr. Anderson interjected fiercely. "Your ex?"

"Yes, dad, my _ex_," Blaine nodded, feeling that familiar pang in his chest every time he said '_ex_'.

"So, he had the audacity to watch tonight," their dad continued, putting his plate down on the table. "And you're performing at his engagement party on Sunday. What has gotten into you and your schedule? Good riddance to him, in my opinion. After what he did, leaving you in California."

"Dad—" Blaine began, but his father cut him off.

"If I see him step foot in our hotel room tomorrow—"

"James!" Mrs. Anderson cut in. "Calm down!"

"This is Blaine and his well-being we're talking about, Maria."

"Maybe some good is going to come out of him performing on Sunday."

"You saw what happened at the press conference, dear. What more when he performs at that goddamn engagement party. He didn't call the house for weeks after that Hummel boy left him. We had to get Danielle to fly there before going to Toronto, don't you remember?"

"Um, dad—" Danielle started, but he cut her off again.

"I forbid it. You will not play at that engagement party. He's getting married to someone else, for God's sake."

"Dad, I'm twenty-five and perfectly capable of taking care of myself now," Blaine said fiercely, standing up and putting his plate down on a nearby table. "This is just a job; I'm not going to woo him or anything like that!"

The entire room fell silent. Duke cleared his throat and stood up from where he was sitting.

"I think we should, um, go," he muttered, beginning to usher everyone out. "Let's just hang out in the main lounge, shall we?"

The people in the room filed out as quickly as possible, and as Duke closed the door behind him, Mr. Anderson began his tirade again.

"I'm not going to let that boy hurt you again. I trusted him the first time I met him, and he just threw you aside like that—"

"_Trusted _him? Excuse me!" Blaine exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "You were so suspicious. You were afraid he was going to spread his _gay_ throughout the house and ruin your chances of turning me straight. You call that trust, dad? Really, do you?"

"Don't you dare talk back to me like that!" James Anderson snapped, standing up and pointing a firm finger at his son. "I never told you that, so don't you dare fire me with words I've never said. We finished this conversation long ago."

"Yeah, but you definitely _showed it _back then," Blaine said, his tone becoming colder.

"I thought we talked about this. I've accepted the fact that you are who you are, and whom you love. But I just don't want you to get hurt."

"Things might change, dad, if I get to play there. This is my only chance," Blaine whispered, his eyes tearing up. "You've got to let me try this. I'm old enough now, and you should know that."

"It's just that I lost all of those years thinking that I hated you. I gave up thinking that. I love you, son. I just want to make up for those lost years."

"Just avoiding all of this will just make everything worse," Blaine said quietly. "I love you too, dad, but you lost your chance to take care of me like a kid. I'm not a little boy anymore."

"Blaine—" his mother said tearfully, standing up and walking to him. She held her arms out to him, but he backed up.

"You're just going to get hurt again," Mr. Anderson said roughly, running a hand through his dark hair. Danielle looked from her parents to her brother, speechless. "You're going to get on that stage, sing for him, and see him marrying someone else. Someone else, Blaine. Do you know how that's going to break you?"

"Dad!" Danielle exclaimed, shocked.

"You were never an opportunist before."

"I guess despite going through all of those civil, seemingly happy years we've had, you didn't get to know me as well as you should have," Blaine said fiercely.

"Blaine, stop it," Mrs. Anderson cried.

"I _should _know you! You're my son!"

"Why weren't you the one who ran up the stairs after that press conference?" Blaine exclaimed, getting closer to his father, "If you cared so much, why didn't you?"

"I…well, I…" Mr. Anderson stuttered, his face contorting with rage. "Don't you dare speak like that to me ever again, Blaine James Anderson!"

"See, you don't know," Blaine said quietly, his chest heaving. "You've got to let me do this."

"Fine. It's your life. I shouldn't be involved with it anymore," James said, throwing his hands up in defeat. He reached over and grabbed his coat. "Maria, let's go. Let's let him live his damn life without us."

"Dad," Danielle begged, grabbing his arm.

"Are you coming, Dani? You've got school on Monday, so you better get your butt back to Toronto, or we'll be putting you at Westerville Community College next year for one semester."

Danielle stared at her father, speechless. "What?"

"You heard me, young lady," Mr. Anderson said fiercely.

"What on earth, James?" Mrs. Anderson snapped. "What's going on with you?"

"If she's going to pick insanity over her own _parents_, we might as well revoke her independence."

"I'm _graduating already_!" Danielle shouted. "You can't just do that, and Blaine's my _brother_! He's _in our family!_"

"Yes I can, because we pay for your college education. And Blaine? He prefers his independence. So be it," James said, heading for the door, his wife tagging along hesitantly. "So, are you coming?"

Danielle hesitated. She looked from her father to Blaine and slammed her foot down on the ground. "Enough of this already! Just…just fucking stop this! Dad, you're _insane_!"

"Dani!" Mrs. Anderson scolded. Danielle ignored her mother.

"You two are always fighting," she continued to shout. "Why can't you just get along for once? I thought everything was okay already. And dad, Blaine's right. You didn't give two shits about him until Mr. Hummel talked to you, and you know it. You seriously know it, dad."

Silence rang in the room once more.

"See you back in Ohio once your school year ends," Mr. Anderson snapped, thrusting the door open and walking out. He hesitated though, and poked his head back in. "I know you love him, Blaine, but I'm worried about you. It will be your fault if you sink back into depression again."

And with that, he left the room.

Mrs. Anderson lingered behind, and ran to her children and hugged them. "I'm going to talk to him. He's probably going to want to go back to Ohio already. _Hay naku_," she sighed.

"What should I do, mom?" Blaine mumbled, hugging her again tightly.

"Do what you deem is right," she whispered in his ear. She took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. "I am so proud of you, _anak_. I believe people deserve second chances, and knowing Kurt, he deserves one, too."

"Do I have to go back to Westerville next year?" Dani said hoarsely, turning pale. Maria walked to her daughter and kissed her cheek as well.

"I'll talk to him."

"Dan and I will share the suite for the weekend. I promise I'll get her back to school as quickly as possible," Blaine promised. His mother pulled them both in for one last embrace, and ran out of the room as Mr. Anderson shouted "_Maria!_"

The siblings looked at each other. Danielle held up her fist to Blaine, who bumped it in return.

"You just risked your education," Blaine said amusedly as the other door opened and the rest of the staff piled in again nervously.

"Whatever. He'll cool down," Danielle grinned, and she placed her head on his shoulder. "Mom's going to talk some sense into dad. She always does."

"Drinks, anyone?" Duke shouted. Blaine sat up and rolled his eyes, and pointed towards Danielle.

"I don't care, can I try?" she pouted. The adults in the room shook their heads and she sighed and leaned back on the couch, irritated.

"Not until next week, sweetheart," Duke smirked, popping open a bottle of wine. "One more show here and we're on our way to Chicago!"

* * *

><p>"Where were you?"<p>

Kurt was in the process of closing the front door of him and Anthony's condominium when he heard Anthony's irritated voice ring out in the darkness. Kurt muttered something incoherent and walked straight into the condo, turning on the lights. He walked swiftly past Anthony and into his mini-studio, slamming the door behind him. He heard Anthony walk towards where he was and pretended to work on a dress.

Anthony opened the door and leaned in the doorway. "Kurt, you said you'd be back an hour ago. Where were you? Studio, right?"

"Yes," Kurt lied quickly, cutting out fabric patterns. Anthony walked in and sat on Kurt's worktable (_Oh dear God, _Kurt thought, panicking. _My cloth! He's sitting on my cloth! You don't see me sitting on his canvases!_). "Jamie and I stayed late and worked on some new stuff."

"Your new line is done, you said."

"I…I'm just tweaking a few things—" Kurt nodded, assuring himself more than Anthony.

"I was watching the news earlier, and they happened to be broadcasting live from Madison Square Garden. Looks like Blaine Anderson's in town already."

"Of course, he's performing for us on Sunday."

"Are you sure you were at the studio?" Anthony frowned, folding his arms. Kurt looked up at him, palms digging into the sides of his worktable. "You look a bit tousled."

"I carried a lot from my car to the studio building."

"What's that sticking out of your bag?" Anthony asked, pointing towards Kurt's messenger bag on the couch. Before Kurt could say anything, Anthony pulled out the program for Blaine's concert and held it between his index finger and thumb.

"Put it back in my bag, Annie," Kurt said croakily.

"I can't believe you," Anthony exclaimed, throwing the program on the couch. "You lied to me!"

"Jamie invited me last minute, okay?" Kurt exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. "I knew you'd say no, because he's performing for us on Sunday, so I decided to go and—"

"I don't care about your reason for going. It's just that you lied to me. You told me you were going to the studio, and you went to your ex-boyfriend's concert instead. It's a bit surreal, you know. You never lie."

"I didn't have any physical contact with him, if that's what you're thinking," Kurt said angrily, his face turning red. "I just sat there and _watched _the damn concert, Anthony."

"You could have just told me that, or I could have called my contacts at MSG and gotten myself a ticket as well!"

"I thought you'd prefer your own little private performance," Kurt said scathingly, walking towards the door of the mini-studio.

"Oh, what are you saying?" Anthony laughed maliciously. "This is crazy, Kurt."

"This whole entire argument is crazy! Fine. I lied. I watched Blaine Anderson's first fucking concert."

"…When he didn't watch your first major Broadway production."

That was it. Kurt threw open the door of his mini-studio.

"Please leave. We'll talk about this in the morning."

"It's twelve already, so it's technically Saturday now, so we have all the time in the world, Kurt."

Kurt slammed the door shut and leaned against it, staring at Anthony with his arms folded. "What is there to talk about? I'm sorry. I lied to you. I watched Blaine's concert."

"Do you still have feelings for him?" Anthony said quietly, walking towards Kurt.

"No," Kurt said stiffly. _I'm beginning to think so. _

"That's all I needed to know," Anthony said, and he leaned in for a kiss. Kurt kissed him back hesitantly, and wiped at his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Let's go to bed, alright? We have a party to get ready for. I love you, Kurtsie."

"I love you too, Annie," Kurt mumbled, the words feeling wrong in his mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>sunday morning<strong> / **The Palace Hotel**

Blaine sat up in his bed, reading _The New Yorker_'s entertainment section, reading more reviews about his first concert. They were positive overall, and they were praising his ability to sing live and his charisma throughout the entire performance. Grinning, he placed the paper aside and got out of bed, and got ready for the day. He felt more comfortable knowing that his parents had gone back to Ohio. It was when Danielle ran through his bedroom door, waving her wallet at him, did he realize what the day was.

"Shopping, here we come."

"We were at Saks Fifth Avenue yesterday," Blaine pouted as he pulled on a shirt, nodding his head towards the multiple shopping bags in the corner of his bedroom. "I honestly love shopping, Dani, but I was thinking that we—"

"No. I do not want to go to the Statue of Liberty. We already did that at Crawford Country Day during my freshman year, and it's incredibly boring. You just look at the chick and buy souvenirs. And today is a special shopping day. Don't you remember? We still have to buy your outfit for tonight's performance!"

Blaine paused, his shirt still half-on. "What?"

"Hello? You're playing at the engagement party downstairs later, remember?"

"Crap, you're right," Blaine groaned, pulling his shirt on properly. He ran to the bathroom and brushed his teeth quickly, and grabbed a pair of skinny jeans in his luggage bag. "Where can we go?" he asked Danielle, who was sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Topman. I want to go to Topman. They have amazing clothes there," she gushed. "For guys, I mean. Topshop is where I go. When we passed by it yesterday, I saw this cute pink button-down shirt."

"I was thinking skinny slacks," Blaine said, giving her a questioning look. "But I'll let you decide for once."

"Where's the fedora we bought yesterday?" she asked, rummaging through their shopping bags.

"In the blue bag over there," Blaine said, pointing to a blue Marks and Spencer shopping bag.

"Fedora plus black slacks, light-pink buttoned-down and black tie," Danielle gushed, setting up what they already had. They just lacked the pink polo.

"Topman, here we come," Blaine said grudgingly.

"Operation Hurricane Hummel is a-go!"

* * *

><p>"Excuse me, where is the Villard Ballroom?" Duke asked, scratching his head at the front desk. The concierge sighed and pointed at the Hotel Directory hanging by the elevators.<p>

"You'll find all that you need over there, sir," he said politely. Duke stared at him.

"Thank you," Duke nodded and he walked towards the elevators in disgust. _I just asked politely_, he thought grudgingly as he perused the directory. _Okay. Fifth floor._ He re-entered the elevator and pressed the fifth-floor button. _This is so awkward. I'm going to meet my best friend's ex-boyfriend's fiancé. Blaine and Dan _had _to go back to Saks. We spent long enough there yesterday, AND I had a goddamn hangover yesterday, too, which didn't help. _

He breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator finally reached the fifth floor. As the door opened, he nearly fell over when another person walked directly into him.

"Ouch!" the other voice, a female's shouted.

"Excuse _me_!" he exclaimed, grabbing the other person's arms, and pulled her out of the elevator so that they would not fall in or get crushed by the closing doors. "Please, watch where you're going next time."

"Sorry, I didn't expect anyone to come up here," the woman frowned. Duke got a good look at the woman he bumped into, and nearly fell over.

She was nearly his height, with long, black hair pulled back in a ponytail, her bangs framing her face delicately. She had bright blue eyes that blended perfectly with her denim skinny jeans and off-shoulder blue shirt.

"I…I'm sorry," he said quickly, backing up into the entrance of the ballroom. "I'm with tonight's entertainment, and you are?"

That was when he noticed the Pavarotti I.D. around her neck.

_Jamie Lewis_  
>Personal Assistant of Mr. Hummel<p>

"Oh, um, I'll be heading in now," he said, pointing with his thumbs towards the Villard Ballroom entrance. "Pardon my clumsiness, miss."

"Name?" she asked suspiciously, folding her arms. "For all I know, you're a paparazzo."

Duke immediately straightened himself and held out a hand. "Duke Whitley, manager of Blaine Anderson."

Jamie Lewis held out a hand and shook it lightly. "Jamie Lewis, personal assistant of Kurt Hummel. Okay. You can set up in there," she said, shooing him off with her free hand, pulling away quickly. Her face was bright red. Duke backed up and nearly hit a passing-by waiter, and recovered his bearing, nodding quickly. "Where's your I.D.?" she asked again as she pressed the elevator button. Duke pulled it out quickly and showed it to her, balancing on his heels.

"Okay. Good," she said, her voice slightly becoming high, and walked into the elevator right away. As it began to close, she added, "I'll see you later?"

Duke nodded quite vigorously, and watched as the elevator doors closed, Jamie Lewis behind them.

* * *

><p>"Does this look good, babe?" Anthony asked, walking out of his and Kurt's walk-in-closet. Kurt looked up from his issue of <em>Cosmopolitan<em> and looked his fiancé up and down.

Ever since Friday night, things had felt tenser between them since Kurt was being more withdrawn than usual. Anthony made him stay at the condominium all day Saturday so that they could spend 'more time together,' which drove Kurt incredibly crazy. He kept on hinting to Anthony that they had all the time in the world to spend together at the party, on their wedding day, and their honeymoon, and that he didn't have to worry about him running around with another celebrity because he wasn't like the dumb reality show subjects on the tabloids every other day.

Yes, he had said all of that, but Anthony insisted that they stayed together since they _were _getting married.

…And Kurt couldn't argue with that.

Now, there was Anthony standing in front of him with an impeccable suit, hair swept beautifully. "How do I look?" he asked again, twirling around. Kurt put his hand on his chin and thought for a moment.

"I like it," he said simply, nodding. Anthony slouched and gave his fiancé a reproachful look.

"You usually give more loquacious opinions," he said, sitting down next to Kurt, putting his arm around him. Kurt leaned onto his shoulder and sighed.

"I'm tired," Kurt mumbled, throwing his magazine on the couch opposite of them. "Sleepy."

"We went to bed early last night," Anthony said worriedly, putting the back of his hand on Kurt's forehead. "Are you sick or something?"

Kurt flinched at Anthony's actions, remembering that Blaine had done the same thing when he, Kurt, had broken up with him. "No, just sleepy."

"Are you sure?" Anthony asked suspiciously, removing his arm from Kurt and turning around to see him better.

"Yes, I'm absolutely fine," Kurt grumbled incoherently, standing up and walking back up the stairs to their bedroom, and he slammed the door shut.

Before Anthony could say anything, Kurt threw the door open again and shouted, "I'll just go and take a shower and get dressed, babe." The door closed once more, gentler than the previous slam.

* * *

><p>"You look fabulous," Danielle gushed, clapping her hands together as Blaine stepped out of the bathroom.<p>

Blaine was decked out in straight black slacks and a tucked-in light pink polo shirt and black tie. He spun around, a black jacket in hand and a fedora over his gelled-down curly black hair. Danielle applauded and the siblings bowed to each other.

"Are you ready, bro?" she asked, sitting back on his bed. Blaine shrugged and sat next to her.

"Almost," he said nervously, adjusting his cuffs. "Are you sure I look fine?"

"Yes," she responded, rolling her eyes. "GQ-worthy, if I do say so myself."

"Want to head downstairs already?" Blaine said, standing up again. "Duke told me that we had to be there by four-thirty."

"Someone's excited," Danielle said, sitting with one leg over the other.

"You have an invitation, don't you?" Blaine asked, taking off his fedora. "You going?"

"Maybe. I might stop by. I didn't want to in the first place, remember? I just came to New York on a whim 'cause I was bored in Toronto," she responded, lying down on the bed. "I might go. _Might. _Total emphasis on _might._"

"Which means…you will," Blaine muttered, sticking his tongue out. "If you go, you are most definitely staying away from any drinks and if someone offers you a drink, I advise you to hide backstage, or stay with Duke."

"You are such a prude. I am merely going to get a glass of iced tea," Dani rolled her eyes, folding her arms tightly. "You know Duke's going to party it up."

"He learned his lesson on Friday," Blaine said, walking towards the bedroom door. "I'm telling you, he's not going to order loads of tequilas, okay? Stay with Duke. _Stay. With. Duke._ Order your iced tea. "

"He won't babysit me."

Blaine snorted. "Trust me. If I make him, he will."

With that, Blaine opened the door and met with his bodyguard as they headed downstairs. Danielle rolled her eyes again, shot up in bed, and went straight for her shopping bags.

* * *

><p>Blaine stared in awe at the Villard Ballroom. It had been decorated beautifully and ornately, circular dinner tables taking up half of the space in the room. A stage was stationed right by the dance floor, and exactly on the opposite side of the stage was a long, rectangular table with twelve chairs: probably for Kurt, Marksman, Carole, Burt, Finn, Quinn, Kurt's assistant, the editor-in-chief of <em>Vogue<em>, Marksman's parents, and whoever else was important. A beautiful banner stating '_Congratulations, Kurt and Anthony!_' was hung over the head table. The words on it, however, made Blaine's stomach contract. He quickly turned away and found his sound crew setting up on stage, Duke giving commands.

"Sound check time?" Blaine said loudly, making Duke jump. Duke turned around and put an arm around his best friend.

"You ready for this, Blaine?" he asked, patting his shoulder. Blaine nodded and turned around to face the ballroom in its entire splendor.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"You look a bit shaken," Duke smirked.

"This may not be Madison Square Garden, but the audience is a bit more critical."

"Don't give a shit, remember?" Duke smiled, sitting on the edge of the stage. Blaine remained standing and put his coat on a nearby chair. "Who picked out the outfit?"

"Dani."

"Excellent fashion choice, that girl has," he nodded swiftly. He turned to face Blaine, who was still watching members of the hotel staff and Kurt's decorating committee set up the ballroom. "Blaine, did you know that Kurt has a smoking hot assistant?"

"No, I wouldn't," Blaine rolled his eyes, looking for his guitar to avoid looking nervous. "What's her name?"

"Jamie Lewis."

"That's good," Blaine said absentmindedly, strumming and tuning his instrument. "Give me a second, will you?" he asked Duke. His manager looked at him incredulously, and jumped off the stage to 'find the restroom'.

Blaine still hadn't decided what song he would use to 'speak' to Kurt. He had been going through a long list of his songs, but they all seemed to depress him, and he even went through an entire playlist on his iPhone. He had narrowed it down to two songs, but he knew that one would cause a few heads to turn, and the other one would probably cause an outburst, but not anything serious.

He was walking up to the microphone to was going to use and turned it on, performing a quick sound check when two hotel waitresses ran up to him with notepads and pens. Grinning, he sat on the edge of the stage as they handed him their notepads enthusiastically.

"I really wanted to watch your concert on Friday night," one of the women, a demure brunette, said ecstatically. "Unfortunately I had work. I'm a big fan of yours!"

"Who should I make this out to?" Blaine smiled, asking for her name.

"Vivienne," she nodded vigorously. The other woman, Eloise, was extremely excited as well, and he signed their notepads and they went back to work.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he stood up once more and began practicing, turning his back to the audience side of the ballroom.

* * *

><p>Kurt and Anthony entered the ballroom at five P.M.<p>

Kurt was very pleased with how everything was set up, just the way he wanted it to be. The tables were in their proper positions and the head table was set up exactly the way it should have been. He could smell the delectable scent of the food from the back – a blend of Asian and European cuisine, his favorites. Anthony greeted Jamie, who followed in, by giving her two welcoming kisses on the cheek. Turning, around, Kurt gave her a hug.

"Wonderful job," Kurt nodded in approval. "I'm in love with what you've brought to life."

"We've been here since noon," Jamie laughed. Kurt stood back and examined her outfit. She was wearing a strapless black dress and a bubble skirt.

"Gorgeous," he said, grinning. "Now, I just need you to take peoples' invitations as the come through the door, alright?" he added, clapping his hands together in excitement. He grabbed Anthony's hand and led him around the Villard Ballroom.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he sighed, leaning on Anthony's shoulder. "I'm just happy to be out of the house."

"We'll talk about this later," Anthony hissed, and separated himself from Kurt to check out the seating arrangement of the head table. Rolling his eyes, Kurt stayed put and folded his arms, his heart dropping upon seeing Blaine standing on stage, playing his guitar. It was strange; he hadn't been _this _close to him in three years. Well, considering how close they were on Friday, this distance was suffocating. Not meaning to, he found his feet taking him towards the stage as Blaine walked backstage. Making sure Anthony wasn't looking, – which he wasn't – Kurt snuck backstage quickly.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, what's the first song you're performing?" Junie asked, working at the mixing board backstage. Blaine shrugged and plopped down on a chair grabbing a bottle of water.<p>

"I'm not sure yet," he said sincerely, sipping some water. "It's a cross between _I Must Be Dreaming _again and an Adele or Florence + the Machine cover."

"Whatever it is, I'll figure out once you start playing the chords. Do you know where Duke is? I've been looking for him since earlier."

"To be honest, I think he went to go and change," Blaine smirked, putting down his bottle and picking up his guitar again. "Can you hand me my tuner, Junie?"

Junie grabbed at his Yamaha guitar tuner and tossed it to him. Catching it, he strummed his tuning notes and began to warm up his voice again.

"You seem highly chill about this," she said suspiciously, sitting next to him.

"To be honest, I may look chill," Blaine began, "but I'm scared as fuck."

"Ah, Mr. Dapper comes out of his poised shell," Junie sighed, clapping his shoulder. "You can do this."

"Well, considering the fact that—"

"Blaine?" a high, soft voice called out nervously. Blaine's insides immediately turned to lead as he turned around and saw Kurt Hummel standing at the backstage entrance.

"Kurt," he said hoarsely.

_Operation Hurricane Hummel is a-go!_

It was only now did Blaine remember Danielle's comically ominous words.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>I'm sorry I didn't finish this by last Wednesday. I hope it was worth it, though, because I promised having the concert + the party in this chapter, but I decided to leave a slight cliffhanger for you all so that I can write the full party scene properly. And for the Duke/Jamie moment - you never know, there could be changes since the pair just met. This chapter was seventeen pages long as well, which surprised me. I hope the lengths are okay with you guys! If you'd like to know the soundtrack for this story, it'll be posted on my Author Profile if you guys want to check it out. I _would _post it on my Tumblr - but I don't have one anymore, unfortunately.

A word of warning: in about two weeks' time I'll be having my final exams for this school year, so if you don't see a chapter alert appear in your inbox next week or the week after, you'll know why.

So, until next week (hopefully), dear readers! Thank you again for the alerts and reviews. I love you all! I hope you continue to follow this story until the end :)

Read & review, please! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Love,  
>Sam<p> 


	5. It's On The News

Party queens / if you wanna be seen / take a shit where you sleep / and smile real wide for the / pa-pa-pa-pa-paparazzi / pa-pa-pa-pa-paparazzi everywhere_  
>cobra starship<em>

…_**Blaine.**_  
>…<em><strong>Kurt.<strong>_

**CHAPTER **five_  
>It's on the news<em>  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You<span>  
>by littlemusings<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Warnings: <strong>Tearjerkers / Brotherly!Finn / Pissed-off!Anthony / Depressed!Blaine / Pissed-off!Blaine / Awkward!Kurt

**insert proper disclaimer here**  
>I don't own Glee and whatnot. If I did…let's just say there would be more Klaine and fluffy rainbows.<p>

* * *

><p>There he was, in all his glory: Kurt Hummel. Blaine froze in his seat, still looking at his ex-boyfriend up and down. Kurt was wearing a simple black suit with a deep-red tie and silver tie clip – he was still impeccably fashionable, as always. His hair was still done upwards, a style Blaine always favored, and everything about Kurt was still as perfect as Blaine remembered, which made the pain in his chest hurt even more.<p>

Yet, there was something about Kurt that had changed. He was more mature and seemed more…secretive. It seemed that he had a lot to hide about the past three years.

And that engagement ring sparkling on his finger didn't help him calm down at all.

"Hi," Kurt said nervously, hugging himself. Junie quickly left backstage and muttered something about meeting Duke, and Blaine bit his lip.

Blaine had to face this on his own. There was no Duke or Dani to help him out this time – he had no privacy or time to call his little sister or complain to his manager.

"Hi."

"You…you look great," Kurt said hoarsely, still by the backstage entrance. Blaine cleared his throat.

"Thanks…so do you. Have a seat," he said, gesturing towards a chair in front of him. Kurt obliged, and sat down, his entire body seemingly stiff.

Silence. The two looked at each other, a chill coming over their side of the ballroom.

"Why?"

"I can explain, Blaine."

They had spoken at the same time, with the same tense tone. Laughing nervously, Blaine adjusted himself and sat down straight.

"Sorry about that," Kurt mumbled, his face turning red.

"You don't have to…" Blaine began, but his voice trailed off. "Kurt, what are you doing back here?"

"I just…I…" Kurt stuttered. "I just wanted to, um, well, thank you for performing. And just to tell you, my…my…"

"Fiancé," Blaine finished distastefully. "I know. He asked me to perform here. Do you happen to know _why_?"

"He's a fan of you," Kurt blurted out.

"He knew we were…were together," Blaine grumbled.

"_Were_," Kurt said, the word making his heart feel heavier. "I'm sorry, Blaine. Why didn't you just decline the gig? You could have. He would have understood."

"It was partly my decision to come and play here tonight as a, you know, a courtesy. A congratulations."

_Yeah, right, _Kurt thought.

_What am I saying? _Blaine groaned in his head. _I sound so stupid right now. _

"I see."

Another pregnant pause filled the space between them.

"Why, Kurt?" Blaine said desperately, leaning back in his chair, arms folded. "Why?"

"Why, what?" Kurt asked, his throat dry.

"You know exactly what I'm asking."

"You know my exact reasons," Kurt said, looking away, arms folded tightly as well. "I told you three years ago."

"If you wanted to be rid of me, then what the hell are you doing backstage?" Blaine asked angrily, gesturing towards the stage. "Why did you even let your…your fiancé…hire me? That's injustice. It's supreme injustice, Kurt, and you do _not know _how much shit I've had to deal with because of this."

"Then why _didn't you decline the job_?" Kurt snapped back, standing up. Blaine stood up as well – unfortunately, Kurt was still taller than him. "And you are not the only person who had to deal with shit!"

"I honestly thought I needed to congratulate you on your happiness," Blaine said spitefully. "He's very good looking, so great job, Kurt. Oh, and you still haven't told me the fucking reasons why you didn't tell him _no_. Because if you had said something, it wouldn't have come to this."

"He insisted," Kurt said, feeling numb. "Anthony insisted."

"'_He insisted,_'" Blaine said bitterly. "Yeah, that's a wonderful reason."

_It's true_, Kurt thought, panicking.

"And dealing with _shit_? You too? I don't think so," Blaine snapped. "You're the one who left me!"

"I'm sorry for hurting you," Kurt hissed, his eyes stinging. _Dear God, what did I do? _"That was three years ago, Blaine! Three-fucking-years-ago!"

"Three fucking years I've spent as damaged goods because of you."

_Damaged_. _Because of you. _The words rang in Kurt's ears.

"Oh, now you're just being dramatic!" Kurt exclaimed, attempting to keep his voice low.

"Like you were three years ago? We could have talked about it, Kurt. We could have solved any problems we might have had, and I would have gladly fucking moved here with you. But no, unfortunately you said you didn't love me anymore and walked out of our apartment building, bags and all. You told me it was wrong to run away a long time ago, and that you didn't want to have that lump in your throat from running away. Guess what? If you have it, you deserve it. You just ran away."

* * *

><p>"<em>Wasn't this prom supposed to be about redemption? About taking away that lump you had in your throat from running away<em>?"

* * *

><p>Kurt thought, <em>I just contradicted myself<em>.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" Kurt hissed, pointing a finger at Blaine, who rolled his eyes.

"After how you talked to me?" Blaine said quietly, his eyes watering as well.

Kurt had to think fast. He had to talk to Blaine, and make sure that no one was around, that no one would care to notice—

"Blaine," Kurt said, his voice becoming gentler. "How much longer are you going to be in New York?"

"Why do you care?" Blaine said crossly, reaching for his guitar. "I'm going to perform in about an hour and a half or so, according to your schedule, so I suggest you go and greet your guests. I can hear some of them arriving already."

"This is my fucking party and I can stay here as long as I want."

"Sure, Kurt," Blaine grimaced, beginning to ignore him. Irate, Kurt made his way to the mini-doorway to the main ballroom, but before he closed the door, he breathed and turned around, his hand still on the doorway.

"Blaine."

Blaine was still ignoring him.

"Meet me at the Italian restaurant in SoHo; it's called Savore Ristaurante, if you're still here tomorrow. It's new and near my studio. Look up the menu. Dinner. We can…we can catch up."

"You're getting married, Kurt," Blaine whispered, looking back up at Kurt. His eyes were filled with tears. "I'm not going to meet you tomorrow."

"This is going to be a civil meeting," Kurt said, looking away. He rummaged through his slacks pocket and pulled out a card, leaving it on a chair. "My number is on there."

"Whatever," Blaine muttered, attempting to redirect his focus to his guitar. "I'm not going to go and screw around with you."

"Six o'clock. Just to talk."

"Goodbye," Blaine said finally. Kurt gave a rattling sigh and wiped his eyes quickly as he walked out of the backstage area.

_Please come_, Kurt thought to himself, Blaine's '_goodbye_' echoing in his head.

* * *

><p>Once Kurt left, Junie slinked back into the backstage area and picked up Kurt's business card. "Are you going to meet him?" she asked quietly. Blaine looked up from his guitar, quickly wiping the tears trailing down his cheeks. Junie nodded curtly and put down the card, going back to the mixing board.<p>

To her surprise, Blaine stood up and walked over to where she put the card down and read it:

_Kurt E. Hummel_  
>Fashion Designer &amp; _Vogue_ Contributor &/ Broadway Performer  
>Mobile: 645-998-6971<br>E-Mail: kurtsiesandbowties pavarotti  
>"<em>If it's not first class, you can kiss my ass.<em>"

Blaine attempted to suppress a smile as he read Kurt's choice of words for the bottom of the card. It was simply made, black with white lettering, with the Pavarotti logo on the bottom-center: a scarlet shield with the outline of a warbler flying through. He tucked the card in his pocket and looked at Junie. "Maybe. I'll think about it."

"Your choice, Blaine," she said, still stunned. Just then, Duke ran through the backstage area, his eyes wide with shock. "Oi, Whitely, what's with you?"

Duke looked at Blaine incredulously, attempting to stay quiet. "Nothing. Did I just see Kurt walk out of here? Did I? Holy shit, Blaine!"

"I need you to watch Danielle tonight. Can you be her escort?" Blaine asked quietly, arms folded. "Please, just watch her for me. Don't let her out of your sight."

"Blainers, I'm your manager, not your sister's watchdog."

Blaine gave him an apprehensive look that clearly read '_oh, whatever, just do it because I feel like throwing swords at you right now.'_ Duke groaned and nodded. "Make sure she doesn't drink a drop of alcohol. She seriously can wait until next Wednesday."

"You gonna be okay, man?" Duke asked seriously, patting Blaine's shoulder. Blaine nodded and turned away.

"Just watch Dani, okay?"

* * *

><p>Danielle looked at herself in the mirror. <em>Not bad, Danners, not bad<em>, she thought, smirking. She was wearing a short, dark blue tube-top Burberry dress, and red pumps, an equally red clutch in her right hand. She twirled around in her dress, and laughed, her curls bouncing. _If only my nose were a tad less bruised._ _Oh, well! _She walked contentedly towards the sitting room of the suite, and found Duke sitting there, bored-looking.

"What are you doing here?" she said contemptuously, folding her arms. Duke looked up at her with his dark eyes and rolled them.

"I'm your escort for the evening, Danners," he simpered. "Come on, let's go. We've got fifteen minutes to go downstairs." He stood up and held his arm out for her to hook onto impatiently. Danielle looked at him up and down, admiring how well he had cleaned up, wearing a generic black suit with a thin lapel collar.

"You clean up well," she said, her cheeks turning a little red as she hooked onto his arm. "Despite your irritated demeanor at the moment, you look good."

"Oh, thanks," he mumbled. "Whatever, let's go. Don't forget your room key."

"How did you get in here, anyway? You should have a key if you got in."

"Blaine."

"He set this up, didn't he?" Danielle frowned, furrowing her eyebrows. "Goddamn it."

_It would have been nice if he asked me out of his own volition_.

"I'll let you go and do whatever you want once we get there, but if I smell one bit of vodka in your breath, I'll send you to an Alcoholics Anonymous session or two."

"I'm almost twenty-one, you dick—I mean, Duke," she said innocently as she fumbled to check if the room key was in her bag, letting go of Duke's arm.

"Bitch," Duke muttered to himself, his cheeks heating up.

"Yes, I'm an a-class bitch, sir," she said, shoving the key into his hands. She opened the hotel room door and walked out ahead of him.

* * *

><p>"Where were you?" Anthony hissed as Kurt arrived. A large group of people had already arrived – people from <em>Vogue<em> and the art community. Kurt put on a fake smile and said to Anthony through gritted teeth,

"Bathroom."

Anthony rolled his eyes and continued to shake peoples' hands and greet them emphatically.

"Are your parents and brother coming?" he added, looking to Kurt. Kurt nodded sharply as the editor-in-chief of _Vogue _stepped in and gave him an enthusiastic, big hug and greeted Anthony as well, and then headed towards her seat on the high table.

"They'll be a few minutes late, but they're coming. I don't know about Finn and Quinn."

"_Finn_," Anthony muttered in distaste. "Oh, just remember, you and I are going to talk later."

_Pointless_, Kurt thought in annoyance. "Okay."

"Do me a favor and don't ruin this party for me," Anthony said warningly. Kurt frowned, but the expression wiped off of his face, replaced by happiness when his father, Burt, entered the ballroom in a crisp suit, followed by his stepmother, Carole.

_Thank god. _

"Hey, kiddo," Burt said happily, hugging his son. Kurt hugged back tightly and went to greet Carole.

"Congratulations, Kurt," she said, smiling brightly. Kurt turned around and saw Anthony and Burt talking, an obviously awkward air surrounding them.

"The place looks wonderful," Burt said, clearing his throat.

"Kurt dealt with decoration and design," Anthony nodded.

_Oh, dear,_ Kurt thought to himself. Things had always been awkward between Burt Hummel and Anthony. When Kurt first introduced Anthony to his parents via Skype, Burt looked slightly taken aback at the fact that his son had found another person, just a year after he had broken up with Blaine. Burt never knew the reason why the pair broke up, and only knew that it was Kurt who had ended it (Kurt fiercely assured his father that Blaine did nothing to hurt him, though, which made Burt even more suspicious). Kurt and his father had their own conversation later on one day when Anthony was at his gallery somewhere on the Upper East Side, and Burt explained that he had missed talking to Blaine.

* * *

><p><em>Burt sighed loudly, alarming Kurt.<em>

"_What's wrong, dad?" Kurt asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. "Is everything okay?" He maximized his father's image on his laptop._

"_You never told me why you and Blaine broke up," Burt shrugged, holding his hands up in defeat. "I mean, Anthony seems like a nice guy and everything, but to be honest, I don't think he and I aren't going to click like, well, Blaine and I did." _

"_Dad, Blaine and I aren't together anymore," Kurt sniffed indifferently, his head slightly throbbing like it always did when someone mentioned his first relationship._

"_I know, kiddo, but the thing is, you've got to know what you want. If Anthony's really who you want to be with, fine. I'm just saying that it would have been nice if he and I had fun conversations and stuff like…like Blaine and I did. About football. About cars." _

"_Oh, dad," Kurt groaned. "Stop comparing him to…Blaine."_

"_I don't mean to, it's just that I haven't talked to the kid in forever." _

"_Dad." _

"_Okay, fine, fine, fine," Burt muttered. He paused and looked up to face his son. "I want you to be happy. Let's just say that I, well, um, approve." _

"_Thank you, dad!" Kurt said happily, jumping in his seat._

* * *

><p>"Let's go take our seats, then, shall we?" Carole said loudly, hooking her arm with Burt's. Burt obliged enthusiastically, and they both took their places by the head table. Kurt sighed in relief, and Anthony grabbed his hand.<p>

"I think Finn is here as well," he muttered in Kurt's ear. Kurt's eyes widened as he turned around and saw his stepbrother, Finn Hudson, and his wife, Quinn Fabray-Hudson (she still didn't want to give up her last name) entered the ballroom. Finn was looking around nervously, pulling at his cover, Quinn nudging his waist gently. "He's brought Quinn as well, I see."

"Don't make such a fuss. Behave," Kurt heard Quinn mutter as the couple approached Anthony and Kurt. Anthony put on a big, obviously fake grin, and shook hands with Finn firmly.

"Hudson," Anthony said through gritted teeth.

"Marksman," Finn said, attempting to be as cheerful as possible. Their grips on each other's hands tightened.

"Finn," Quinn muttered as she and Kurt pulled out of an embrace.

"Well, I suggest we should sit down!" Kurt panicked, mimicking Carole's intervention, his voice getting higher, clapping his hands together with faux enthusiasm. Finn put his arm around his brother as Anthony and Quinn conversed behind them as they walked to the table. More guests filed in; Jamie took over greeting them. Kurt noticed that his brother had lost weight and gained more muscle since the last time they had seen each other – nearly a year.

"Still a major dick, I can see," Finn grumbled. "No offense."

"As I heard Quinn say, Finn, _behave_," Kurt begged. "He's my fiancé."

"…And I'm your brother. God, Kurt, why are you marrying him?" Finn looked down disgustedly at his brother's engagement ring.

"I'll talk to you later," Kurt mumbled. "Listen, wait until you see who he hired to perform tonight."

"What, who?" Finn glowered, his eyes shifty.

"You'll see," Kurt said, feeling as if his stomach had fallen. "And you'll be surprised."

The four sat down at the head table; people waving and greeting Anthony and Kurt as they entered.

The party had begun.

* * *

><p>"Hot damn," Danielle whistled as she and Duke arrived at the front door of the Villard Ballroom. There was a long line already outside the venue, controlled by two lines of security on either side of the door. The guards were attempting to hold back paparazzi that were trying to get a sneak peek at the party happenings. "Insane security, I see. Apt for such an important event—oh lord, is that Jennifer Aniston?"<p>

"I don't think so," Duke rolled his eyes. "Come on, line, hurry up," he muttered impatiently. He saw Jamie Lewis standing by the door in a short, black ensemble, collecting invitations from the guests with a big smile on her face. He immediately adjusted his tie as the line continued to move forward.

It wasn't that he was trying to _impress _someone.

Well, he was. Duke immediately unlatched Danielle's arm from his and he straightened his body into a ramrod position. Danielle folded her arms and sighed, looking at him in frustration.

"You seem obviously high-strung right now," Danielle asked, suspicious as she looked for Duke's visual point of interest. "Cool your jets, Duke."

After a few more people entered, it was time for Danielle and Duke to turn over their invitations.

"Duke Whitley," Jamie said smoothly, folding her arms and shaking her head. "Nice of you to come without looking as if you're sneaking around."

Duke smiled goofily. "Jamie Lewis. Nice to see you…yeah, nice to see you."

"Hello, ma'am," Jamie said, gesturing towards Danielle (who shot her a simpering, uninterested expression). "Name, please?"

_Dear God, Duke looks like an idiot_, Danielle thought irritably. She immediately pulled her invitation out of her purse and flashed it in _Jamie Lewis' _face proudly. "I'm Danielle Anderson. I'm Blaine Anderson's younger sister. I was invited? Here, take my invitation," she added, flicking her invitation at Jamie, who caught it reluctantly, frowning.

"And Mr. Whitely here," Danielle added with a smile, "Is my _escort _and Blaine's _manager_, if you didn't know already."

"Manager, I knew he was, escort, I did not," Jamie said, looking surprised. Duke cleared his throat and shot Danielle a warning glance.

"I'm just watching her for her brother. A simple favor," he tried to say smoothly. "Young lady tends to get in trouble quite a bit."

"I do _not_, you di—"

"—Alright, then," Jamie said, cracking a smile. "So I guess I'll see you guys inside later? You two will be seated at the table next to Mr. Hummel's. I'll get Blaine to go and sit down as well."

"Definitely," Duke nodded. "Alright."

"Where's Blaine going to sit?" Danielle interjected.

"At Mr. Marksman's request, at the head table."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Danielle whispered to Duke, who ignored her quickly, but his face read worry as well. He managed to tell Jamie a 'see you later' (to Danielle's chagrin), and the pair entered the venue quickly.

There were probably over fifty people in the ballroom, either socializing or sitting at tables, drinking as they waited for dinner to begin. Duke and Danielle took their seats near the head table and Danielle looking at it curiously.

"Kurt obviously looks great still," she nodded towards the host. Duke looked indifferent.

"I don't care," he began, "I'm beginning to worry about your Bee."

"What happened?" Danielle asked, panicking, looking around for him.

"Nothing too drastic…yet," Duke mumbled. "He looked absolutely distraught when I went back to talk to him. Kurt seemed like he just left the backstage area when I started talking to Blaine. It was terrible."

Danielle gave him an understanding look and calmed down. "My melodramatic brother. I'll just text him when he gets to the table. He never denies my texts."

"Don't be so sure of that," Duke said drily, gesturing towards the stage, where Blaine was walking with Jamie Lewis.

He looked absolutely fine, and several people stopped him to say hello. Danielle quickly left the table.

"Dan!" Duke shouted as she went through the sea of people, and ended up at the head table.

* * *

><p>"Who is the young lady in the blue dress?" Anthony asked Kurt quietly, pointing towards Danielle. "There, the girl in the blue dress, red heels, and curls."<p>

Kurt cleared his throat and sat up in his seat. "Oh, that's, well, um, Blaine's younger sister, Danielle Anderson. I invited her."

"I see," Anthony said, suspicious. Finn gave Kurt an incredulous look.

Kurt said drily, "Do you have a problem with who I've invited?"

"Of course not, babe."

Kurt saw Finn cringe out of the corner of his eye. Keeping a mental note to kick his brother squarely in his crotch after the party, Kurt smiled sweetly. _You are so obvious, Finn. Why do you have to be so damn obvious?_ He quickly lightened up when someone ended up tapping him on the shoulder. Turning around in his chair, he saw Danielle, the object of their conversation, standing right behind him, a bright smile on her face. Kurt jumped out of his chair and gave her a big hug.

"Danielle Marie Anderson! You look absolutely gorgeous! Thank you so much for coming," he said enthusiastically. Danielle hugged back and held Kurt by his shoulders.

"I was a bit surprised when you invited me," she said amusedly. Kurt noticed she was looking at something out of the corner of her eye. He turned around and his stomach dropped as Jamie was nearing the head table with Blaine. He turned right back around to face Danielle, who looked equally nervous.

"Well, you're always welcome, Dani," Kurt said, his voice getting slightly higher. He turned to face Anthony whose eyebrows were raised in expectation. Clearing his throat, Kurt turned him and Danielle around to face him. Finn, Quinn, Marnie Cervico (the editor-in-chief of _Vogue)_, and his parents were staring at the situation in front of them mutely, which made him even more uncomfortable. "Annie, this is Danielle. Danielle, meet Anthony, my fiancé."

"Nice to meet you," Danielle said politely, shaking his hand (Kurt noticed she did quite roughly) and letting go quickly. _Well, I _did _date her brother…_

"Dani," another voice exclaimed. Everyone at the head table turned around to see Duke, who looked absolutely irate and short of breath. He immediately straightened up when he saw Kurt and Anthony. "Hello again, Kurt! You must be Anthony," he said in a patronizing tone, shaking their hands quickly. "Congratulations and whatnot!"

"Danielle Anderson," Duke hissed, grabbing her wrist and thus pulling her away from the confused people at the head table. "What on earth are you doing? Are you trying to embarrass your brother?"

"I'm guessing that I can make things more comfortable for Bee if I'm there with him," she muttered. She hurried back to the table, and Blaine was about there. _Bingo_, she thought.

"Kurt, Anthony, Mr. and Mrs. Hummel, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson, and Mrs. Cervico," Jamie announced, "This is Mr. Blaine Anderson," she said, gesturing Blaine to come forward. Blaine, beaming (Kurt knew that was all a lie), stepped forward and shook hands with everyone at the table. It seemed that his handshake with Anthony was quite tentative too, because as they gripped, he let go immediately. He didn't even make eye contact with Kurt.

"Good evening, everyone," Blaine said happily, polite as ever.

"Thank you for coming, I'm such a huge fan," Anthony said enthusiastically, gesturing towards an empty seat next to him. Blaine nodded and walked over to the chair, giving Danielle and Duke split-second glares before sitting.

"Oh, I was just talking to Dani here," Kurt said loudly, pulling Danielle back towards the table. "She looks gorgeous, doesn't she?"

Everyone at the table nodded in approval. Danielle blinked and gave Kurt a quick hug. "Why, um, thank you! I guess…um…I'll just head back to my table now. Bye, Bee," she said quickly, and waved to everyone at the table, grabbing Duke by the hand. Jamie's eyes narrowed as she saw them hurry to their table.

* * *

><p>"So much for '<em>making things comfortable for Bee,<em>'" Duke snorted as they sat down. Danielle threw her bag down and leaned back in her chair in a very un-ladylike fashion.

"I panicked. Blaine looked like he could handle it, but then I knew…then…I don't know what the fuck I was thinking," she muttered, slamming her fist down on the table gently. "Oh, and I think that Jamie chick totally has the hots for you. I'm serious. It's kind-of annoying."

"I just met her earlier, Dan," he mumbled, playing with his napkin. "Stop making assumptions."

"Oh, I know what it looks like when someone likes another," she said loudly. Duke held a hand up to her mouth and she looked at him threateningly, and he let go. "Whatever. I am not dealing with your shit," she pouted, moving two seats down the table from him. Duke gave her a skeptical look, rolled his eyes, and turned his back to her, arms folded.

_PMS-y bitch._

* * *

><p>Blaine gave Carole and Burt warm hugs, which made Anthony slightly antsy. Like before, Finn and Blaine gave each other their used-to-be-normal fist-pumps and Quinn greeted him enthusiastically. He was irritated. <em>He <em>was Kurt's fiancé, _not _Blaine Anderson. He was beginning to regret hiring Blaine, but he thought if he had Blaine perform, he would show Kurt that he, Anthony, was clearly the better man. He was torn out of his thoughts when he heard Blaine and Burt start conversing about football (the one sport he, Anthony, clearly detested).

"…OSU Buckeyes, for sure, for college football. I'm still following them of course. My dad got me the latest iPad for my birthday last year, so I downloaded live-streaming apps to watch the games," Blaine said excitedly. "And Finn, man, you did awesome this past season. I'm loving the New England Patriots."

"Aw, thanks, dude," Finn laughed, punching Blaine on the shoulder happily.

Kurt could see that Anthony was beginning to get irritated, and despite how much he wanted to interrupt his father, Finn, and Blaine's conversation, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"So, what do you do, Anthony? I hear you're a painter," Blaine said stiffly, sipping at his wine. Anthony did likewise and put down his glass with a slight force.

"I own a large gallery on the Upper East Side, and a smaller one in SoHo. You may have heard of them," Anthony responded with difficulty. "I would ask you the same thing, but you're quite a legend in the LGBT community, Mr. Grammy Award Winner."

"I find that a kind compliment," Blaine responded, holding up his wine glass. "Why, everyone, why don't we give a nice toast to Kurt and Anthony?"

"Yeah," Finn said quickly, adjusting his posture. Everyone held up his or her glasses, and Kurt did so as well, awkwardly.

Blaine cleared his throat (and Kurt was sure that what he said was laced with enough drunkenness [he questioned whether Blaine was drunk already; he had such low tolerance] and spite to create ten thousand anger-fueled fashion lines – he was lucky no one else noticed) "To Kurt and Anthony – have a wonderful life together."

"Cheers," Anthony said, his tone becoming more prideful. He sipped his wine eagerly, his eyes narrowed at Blaine.

_Dear god, the testosterone at this table is getting on my nerves, _Kurt thought angrily.

"Thank you, Blaine," he said quickly and nervously. "Now, have you all heard about my new line? It's going to be released this fall, and I'm incredibly excited!"

* * *

><p>Dinner came and went (uneasily), and the hotel management, on Kurt's earlier orders, moved all the tables to the side, to the surprise of the guests. The bar in the back opened, and loud music began blasting from the speakers, and the guests quickly scattered to the dance floor. Blaine quickly excused himself (politely, of course, to Anthony's immense chagrin) from the table, and hurried backstage with Jamie. Anthony finally relaxed when Blaine left, but the rest of the table felt awkward and unsociable without Blaine sitting there. Upon realizing this, Kurt saw Anthony tap his foot impatiently.<p>

"Your parents didn't come," Kurt said sadly, quickly leaning his head on Anthony's shoulder.

"I knew they wouldn't," he muttered to himself. "What about your high school friends?"

"I know some of them are going to be late…" Kurt began, but his voice trailed off as more and more of his guests began to crowd around them and congratulate them.

* * *

><p>Blaine was pleased with how well he managed to behave throughout the entire dinner. Sure, Anthony was shooting daggers at him with his eyes, and Kurt looked incredibly uncomfortable, but he felt better catching up with Burt, Carole, Finn, Quinn, and getting to know the other guests at the table. Jamie, Kurt's assistant, was now taking him backstage (along with a guard) so that he would get ready to perform.<p>

"Here you go, Mr. Anderson," Jamie said politely, pushing aside the small curtain to the backstage area. Blaine smiled sweetly at her and said a quick 'thank you,' and collapsed on the couch, his arm over his eyes, Junie looking at him amusedly.

"How did it go, tiger?"

"I managed not to get drunk," Blaine said simply, reaching for his fedora blindly. Junie rolled her eyes and handed it to him, and he put it over his face. "It was incredibly strange to see Kurt act so awkward. To be honest and whatnot, I thought it was somewhat funny…and, well, um, cute."

"How un-dapper, Mr. Dapper. Second time tonight as well," Junie snorted, "I advise you to get ready, because according to my watch and the schedule Kurt drew up for this shindig, you're performing in approximately ten minutes. Got any idea for your opening?"

"I'll just go smoothly, and end with a bang," Blaine nodded, waving his hand dismissively. After meeting Kurt's fiancé, he felt incredibly jealous and angry and other feelings he couldn't comprehend.

It was show time.

* * *

><p>"Kurt!" Rachel Berry exclaimed, running towards him in a dark-red, sweetheart-cut dress. Kurt gasped and threw his arms wide open. Rachel crashed into them and pulled him into a tight hug. "Oh my God, I booked the earliest flight. It took forever, and I was sure the pilot was going to make us crash. I hate turbulence and one day I fear it's going to knock me out of my seat."<p>

"I'm just so glad you made it!" Kurt said enthusiastically. Rachel looked around the ballroom.

"There are so many people here," she nodded, impressed. "Naturally, I've received more visitors for parties such as these, and for showings of _Evita_."

"Humble as always, aren't you?" Kurt smirked. Having his old friend next to him made him feel slightly better about the fiasco he was sure to happen later on when Blaine would start singing. "I'd like to say that I've had more people watch my shit go across catwalks at Paris Fashion Week rehearsals."

"Kurt, dear, keep dreaming," Rachel grinned. She hugged him tightly, and people began to notice and point her out. She _was _famous in the New York theatre community, performing first in a later run of _Catch Me If You Can_ before moving to London to star in _Evita_. "Well…congratulations. Where's your fiancé?" she asked, looking around. Kurt pointed towards Anthony, who was talking to some of his friends from the art community. "Average height, his hair is dyed, but he seems very chiseled. I remember back in high school you were more for the…well, shorter, vaguely Eurasian men…"

"And so were you, for a brief, intoxicated period of time. Speaking of Eurasian men…" Kurt muttered as he heard the soft strumming of a guitar backstage. Rachel rose a speculative eyebrow as Anthony walked over and greeted her.

"Nice to meet you," she said happily, shaking his hand. _At least she's a good actress, _Kurt thought amusedly. "I'm Rachel Berry, West End and Broadway star."

"I know, Kurt told me all about you," Anthony said politely. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to announce Blaine." He quickly kissed Kurt on the cheek and hurried to run up to the stage.

"He's, well, um, nice," Rachel cleared her throat. "Well, if you excuse me, I'm going to say hello to Finn and Quinn."

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. He would call Rachel later, or talk to her after the party if she were still sober. He watched as Anthony stepped on stage and tapped the microphone, immediately getting the attention of everyone in the room. The noise became a dull buzz.

"Good evening, everyone. I would like to thank you all for coming to Kurt and me's party. It means so much to us," he said happily to applause. "We're planning on getting married in about two months. I would like to say: I love you, Kurt. These past two years with you have been amazing, and I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

Kurt blushed quickly, straightening his position as a spotlight went on him. Usually, he would bathe in the spotlight, but this time, he pursed his lips into a smile and balanced on the balls of his feet, making a simple heart-shaped sign with his hands. Anthony cleared his throat then the audience's attention and the spotlight re-focused on him.

He continued, "Now, everyone, I'd like to thank an old…um, _friend _of Kurt's, for performing tonight. He's been a trooper. Everyone, let's say hi to our favorite Grammy winner, Blaine Anderson!"

_He's been a trooper._

The entire room erupted into applause. Blaine stepped on stage with his guitar, and Kurt felt his heart leap when he saw the shorter man in his fedora, carrying his coat with his other hand. The fedora. A favorite accessory of Blaine's. Kurt remembered the first time Blaine showed him his hat collection, before they left for UCLA seven years ago.

* * *

><p>"<em>It's so surreal, huh? We're leaving for college in two days," Kurt said idly, helping Blaine fold his bed sheets and putting them in a nearby box labeled 'bedroom'. Blaine looked up from the stack of CDs he was sorting out and grinned.<em>

"We're _leaving for college," he said in a singsong voice, sorting them out in alphabetical order in a box labeled 'music'. _

"_Where do you want me to put this box?" Kurt asked, picking up the 'bedroom' box. Blaine shrugged. _

"_Just put it in the closet, babe." _

"_Alright," Kurt smiled brightly. He walked over to Blaine's large, mahogany closets and opened them, revealing several pairs of skinny jeans and cardigans. "Don't you have anything else?" he smirked, putting the box down by another one that was unlabeled. _

"_That's the fiftieth time you've asked me that, Kurt," Blaine laughed, standing up and walking to his boyfriend, putting his arms around his waist. "I don't look good in anything else, and since I wore my Dalton blazer and slacks for the past three years, I didn't feel like I had to buy anything else." _

"_You look good in everything; what are you talking about?" Kurt said defiantly. "Wait, what's in that box?" he asked, pointing towards the unlabeled one. Blaine jumped away from Kurt and blocked his view, waving his hands in a dismissing motion. _

"_Nothing, just old stuff," he said quickly. Kurt pursed his lips together and looked over Blaine's shoulder at the box. Before Blaine could do anything, Kurt sidestepped him and opened the box, revealing a multitude of fedoras and other assorted hats. _

"_Do you have a hat fetish, Blaine?" Kurt laughed loudly, falling over. Blaine blushed and folded his arms._

"_A fetish? I think not," he said gruffly, turning away from his boyfriend, embarrassed. Kurt sat up and looked at Blaine amusedly. _

"_I think it's cute," he said innocently, resting his chin on the palms of his hands; his elbows on his knees. "Since when have you collected hats?"_

"_Middle school until my freshman year. I stopped when I went to Dalton because I had nowhere to put them in my dorm room…so I left them here," Blaine said matter-of-factly, still facing away from Kurt, who began to rummage through the box. _

"_Fedoras? Really, babe, fedoras? Were you trying to be some sort of Eurasian Indiana Jones?" _

"_Yeah, he was!" a fourteen year-old Danielle shouted from outside the room. Blaine turned around and groaned in protest. "A freakin' hilarious Indiana Jones, Kurt! You should see our home videos!" _

* * *

><p>Kurt shook off the memory as Blaine began to strum his guitar gently, and all he could see were Blaine's lips moving, and he couldn't seem to hear a thing he was saying. Again, he felt that same heart-fluttering feeling he felt on the night of his ex-boyfriend's concert. Anthony found his way back to Kurt and put his arm over him as Blaine began to sing 'I Must Be Dreaming' again. Everyone swayed to the beat, or slow-danced with their boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, or wives. Kurt sighed and found himself dancing with Anthony, who was giving him a questioning look.<p>

"Relax, babe, he's far away," Anthony mumbled into Kurt's ear, attempting to soothe him. Kurt looked up at Anthony and bit his bottom lip. "Really, what's wrong?"

"I don't think now is the time to talk about it," Kurt murmured, looking around at the happy crowd – he saw Rachel dancing with his co-star (who played Fiyero) from _Wicked_, and Finn and Quinn nearby. "Let's just dance, shall we?" he said off-handedly, holding onto Anthony tightly.

"This is a perfect time to talk about whatever the heck is going on," Anthony muttered back defiantly. "I honestly do have a right to know, Kurt."

"You'll know," Kurt responded hesitantly. "You'll know."

The pair kept on dancing, and applause rang throughout the room as Blaine finished his first song. Kurt applauded politely and looked up at Blaine, whose hazel eyes were boring right into his. Snapping out of it, Kurt cleared his throat and pretended to talk to other people around him, his hand gripping Anthony's tightly.

* * *

><p>"Aren't you going to ask me to dance?" Danielle asked, turning around to face Duke. The pair hadn't talked throughout the entire dinner, to Duke's annoyance.<p>

"You didn't even talk to me when we were eating parfaits, and now you want to dance with me?" he asked, frowning deeply. "I thought you were trying to prove a point."

Duke honestly did not understand why Danielle was acting so '_PMS-like'_ (in his own words). First she had mentioned something about Jamie, and now she was just acting plain weird. Maybe, he thought, _maybe this is revenge for breaking her nose. Yeah, that's it. _"So, um, do you want to dance?" he asked, standing up and holding a hand out to her. She looked at him angrily and turned away. Frustrated, Duke walked away from the table as Blaine began his second song, a more lively and pop-sounding one, and saw Jamie standing in a corner, talking to her friends. He prepped himself and hurried over.

"Oh, hi," she laughed, holding her glass of wine. "I was wondering when you were coming around."

"Well, I think Danielle can take care of herself," Duke smiled, holding out a hand. "Would you like to dance?"

"Of course," she said, and took his hand.

Danielle looked over at them, and rolling her eyes, she stood up and walked straight towards the bar.

* * *

><p>As always, Blaine was in his element while performing. He put aside his guitar and belted out one of his most popular and latest covers, a cover of The Black Kids' '<em>I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You,<em>' which he hoped would spark something in Kurt's memory bank. He saw Kurt and Anthony dancing and talking to other people, and he wanted to make sure that the song he wanted to perform was performed at the right time and with the proper set list balance.

_Word's on the street and it's on the news,  
>I'm not gonna teach him how to dance with you<br>He's got two left feet, and it bites my moves,  
>I'm not gonna teach him how to dance, dance, dance, dance<em>

Kurt shifted uncomfortably next to Anthony as the song went on. Back in high school, he couldn't relate to it.

But now he could, and it was giving him a headache.

* * *

><p><em>The second I do, I know we're gonna be through<em>

_I'm not gonna teach him how to dance with you_

Dani arrived at the bar, and sat on one of the stools grumpily. The bartender gave her a sympathetic look and handed her a shot of tequila sunrise.

"On the house, ma'am."

"Really?" she asked, holding it up.

"If you're twenty-one, I assume, since everyone here is technically over legal age."

She stared at it tentatively. "Yeah, yeah, of course," she said quickly.

…And she gulped it down. Looking around to make sure no one noticed, she held up a hand and asked for another one.

_Hey, this actually tastes good. _

* * *

><p>Blaine finished the song with one of his famous knee-slides to the cheers of everyone in the room. He stood up immediately, dusting his slacks off. Taking a swig of water from his bottle, he continued to sing.<p>

* * *

><p>Five songs and a thousand conversations later, Kurt found himself next to Finn and Quinn, and Anthony was on the other side of the room, talking to more of his friends, as usual.<p>

"Didn't Blaine sing that Boyfriend song at junior prom?" Quinn asked humorously, laughing. Finn nodded and gave his 'gassy-infant look' (as defined by Santana Lopez back in high school). "That was when you and Jesse St. Sucks were fighting over Rachel. Where is Rachel, by the way?"

"She's probably around here somewhere," Kurt said, tip-toeing to see over the crowd. "I saw her with one of my co-stars about thirty minutes ago."

"Are you alright, bro? You look winded-up," Finn asked seriously. Kurt looked to his brother and sister-in-law guiltily.

"He's so brilliant," he said, gesturing towards the stage, where Blaine was singing.

"You're marrying Anthony, though," Finn grumbled. Quinn punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Shut up," she hissed. "Sorry, Kurt, he's been acting like this all evening…"

"With good reason," Kurt muttered.

"You still like Blaine," Finn accused, giving him a speculative look. "I can see it in your eyes."

"No, I don't," Kurt said hurriedly, and then he left them to find Anthony.

* * *

><p>"Good evening, everyone," Blaine said into the microphone, smiling impeccably at his audience. Everyone clapped and cheered even louder, and laughing, Blaine added, "I would, well, like to thank Anthony and Kurt for giving my manager, Duke a call last week to ask me if I could perform tonight. It has, well, for want of a better word, been a pleasure. This last song is dedicated to Kurt, who is, as you all know, a…very old friend of mine.<p>

"I met Kurt back in high school, when he was still getting bullied back at McKinley High School in Lima. He wasn't a very smiley person when I met him. But afterwards, he became one of the…truest friends I've ever had. And I've noticed tonight, despite the…tumultuous occasion, he's been a bit down. So here you go, Kurt."

Blaine scanned the audience, and found Kurt standing next to Anthony again, looking horrified. He put his hands to the keyboard, and signaled his back-up guitarist to begin.

_If I were you, and you were me  
>And everybody thought that life was so easy<br>Well it ain't like that  
>And everything you seem to know<br>And all the things you've thought would help you through_

_But they just don't measure_

_Up and down, from side to side  
>My emotions need a rest<br>Much more than I do  
>And you know that I'd do<br>Almost anything to see a brand new day_

_And a chance to see you smile again, my love_

_To see you smile again, my love_

* * *

><p>"Oh my God, Blaine actually did it," Duke whispered as he and Jamie danced. She pulled away and looked at him with wide eyes, and then looked towards the stage.<p>

"Holy fuck."

* * *

><p>Everyone around him was talking. If they weren't talking, they were dancing. But…everyone was talking now. Panicking, Kurt grabbed Anthony by his hands and began dancing with him awkwardly.<p>

"What's this all about?" Anthony exclaimed.

_All I wanna do is dance,  
>All I wanna do is sing,<br>All I wanna do is close my eyes  
>And hope that you give in<em>

"Let's dance," Kurt nodded quickly, and he began to 'Vogue,' half-listening to Anthony and half-listening to the lyrics of Blaine's song. Ignoring him, Anthony turned around to face the stage again and realized what was going on.

Blaine was serenading his fiancé.

At his and Kurt's party.

It seems that he had been the entire night, and it was beginning to piss him off.

Infuriated, Anthony stormed away from Kurt and headed towards the stage.

_All I wanna do is dance  
>All I wanna do is sing<br>All I wanna do is close my eyes_

_And make you smile again _

"Anthony! ANTHONY!" Kurt shouted, making people turn around.

_And make you smile again _

* * *

><p>(<strong>AN: **I don't really put author's notes in the middle of stories, but at this moment, I suggest you go to YouTube or any music player you have, and turn on Cobra Starship's "Smile For The Paparazzi." Best tension song ever.)

* * *

><p><em>If I were you, and you were me,<br>And everybody thought that love was so easy  
>Well, it ain't like that<br>And nothing's broke that can't be fixed  
>If you admit that it won't last that long<em>

'_Cause nothing lasts forever _

Blaine was still scanning the audience for Kurt, and he saw Anthony running up towards the stage. Grinning, he continued.

* * *

><p><em>Movin' on, I'm holdin' on, but I won't let it go<br>Just like I'm told to  
>And you know I'm supposed to<em>

_Live it all along my way but I won't let it rest  
>Until you're mine again, my love<em>

_Until you're mine again, my love_

* * *

><p>Duke and Jamie attempted to push through the crowd, who were attempting to figure out what was going on.<p>

* * *

><p>"Gimme another one," Danielle said, her voice slurring as she sat, slumped against the counter. The bartender sighed and rolled his eyes.<p>

"Ma'am, I think you've had enough."

Dani sat up and gave him a look of great apprehension. "I don't give a flying …shit…can I have one mo_o_o_oooooore_?"

When the bartender shook his head, she frowned and stumbled off of the stool, attempting to regain her balance when a taller person bumped into her.

"Dani, what the—what the, are you _drunk_?" Duke exclaimed, panicking, holding her up by her shoulders. "Danners, you have school tomorrow afternoon, what the fuck did you do?"

"No, fuck school, I'm not d-d-d-drunk…I'm Harry Fucking Potter, Dukey, look an' see," she slurred, holding up a little cocktail umbrella, which was still folded, pointing at him with it. "Now I'm singin' in th…th…the rain," she giggled, now holding it over her head. She pushed it open.

"Oh shit," Duke groaned. Jamie looked at him uneasily. Sighing, he told her, "Sorry, but I've got to take care of both of them. By both of them, I mean Blaine _and _Danielle. Talk to you later?"

"Buh-lainers? He's there, singin' again, he always sings, like in the shower and stuff," Danielle laughed manaically.

"She is off the charts," Jamie snorted. Duke shrugged.

Jamie nodded and frowned as he turned his back towards her and lifted Dani up, carrying her.

"Dukey, put me down!" she chuckled, kicking her feet in the air, one of her red heels falling off. Jamie picked it up and handed it to Duke, who took it gratefully.

"You're a great dancer, Jamie. I'll see you later," he said.

"Likewise," she said uneasily.

"Dukey, baby," Danielle wailed, throwing her arms over his neck. "I la-a-a-ave you!"

_Dear sweet baby Jesus, _Duke thought.

He started to head towards the stage, but he was too late. Someone had beat him to it.

And that someone was a very pissed-off Anthony Marksman.

* * *

><p>Blaine turned around to face Anthony, who was already on the stage, walking towards the center where he stood.<p>

_And make you smile again, my love_.

Anthony yanked the microphone stand from Blaine, who let go of the keyboard keys.

The entire room fell silent. Kurt found his way up the stage and tugged at Anthony's wrist.

"Anthony, please, what are you doing?"

"Flirting with my fiancé, are you?" Anthony shouted into the microphone. Blaine tugged the microphone back his way.

"Just singing something for an old friend," he said, and pushed the stand back towards Anthony, who caught it angrily.

"Old friend, my ass. You know _he left you, and found me!_"

"Stop it!" Kurt screamed. "Both of you, stop it!"

"Well, if you can't see, I think he obviously still loves me."

"Bull_shit_, Anderson, total bullshit! I'm getting him, and _you're _obviously not, so stop this fucking shit right now or I'll punch your face in!"

"Just look at him, Marksman, he's miserable."

* * *

><p>"Oh my fucking grilled cheesus," Finn exclaimed. He began to run towards the stage, but Quinn and Burt pulled him back.<p>

"Burt, look at what the fuck is going on!" Finn hissed. Carole squeezed his shoulder.

* * *

><p>And that was when Anthony punched Blaine squarely in the face.<p>

Blaine blinked, lights dancing in his eyes, and he regained his balance, leaning on the keyboard for support. Several guards ran into the ballroom to see what all of the commotion was all about.

"Is that all you've got?" Blaine said bitterly, spitting on the stage.

"Blaine, please," Kurt choked. "Annie—"

"Don't '_Annie' _me, Kurt, don't you dare right now," Anthony said angrily. He turned towards Blaine, who was smiling smugly. "And no, hobbit, that's not all I've got."

Anthony lunged on Blaine, and the two began to fight.

Unfortunately, the guards left the front doors wide open, and a flood of paparazzi entered the Villard Ballroom.

Blaine and Anthony were trying to get at each other's faces. Being beat up throughout middle school and his freshman year prepared him for something like this: the chance to be brave for once, to fight for what he believed was right.

Kurt was trying to pull Anthony off of Blaine, but one stray fist hit Kurt straight in the eye, making him fall over.

The chaos turned into silence. There were cameras clicking somewhere in the audience area.

"Kurt…Kurt…" Anthony whispered. Blaine sat up, sore, and pushed the taller man aside and kneeled down next to Kurt.

"You…you punched me," Kurt said quietly, holding his left eye, tears running down his face. "You fucking punched me!" he shouted at Anthony.

The guards ran on stage and pulled Anthony and Blaine apart. Other guards attempted to usher the paparazzi out forcefully, which they were unsuccessful doing.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Anthony cried, rushing towards Kurt, who merely backed up.

Kurt looked at Blaine. "Why?"

"You obviously know why."

Kurt ran off-stage, and Blaine watched as Finn chased after him, along with a wave of paparazzi snapping photos.

"You see what you do?" Anthony spat, pulling away from the guards. He chased after his fiancé, leaving Blaine on stage with three security guards.

* * *

><p>"Buh-layney looks sad," Danielle pouted as they arrived at the front of the stage. Duke put her down and after a second, she managed to balance on her feet.<p>

"Stay right here, Dan. Just stay right here," he said calmly, and ran to the stage to comfort his best friend.

"Blaine," he whispered into his friend's ear. He helped Blaine up and walked him off-stage. After grabbing Danielle by the wrist, he directed the siblings out of the Villard Ballroom.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>SHIT, THIS WAS 20 PAGES ON MICROSOFT. I AM PROUD OF MYSELF. loljk. But hhhrrgghhh, I felt like Bee and Kurtsie's argumentconversationthing in the beginning was left unfinished...so hohoho, watch out for later chapters. Sorry for the week without a chapter. Starting next week, there will most likely be a new chapter every Wednesday so I can learn how to update stories properly. I'm still on finals week, and next week, I'm a free bird! SUMMER, Y U NO HERE YET? Ahem. I'll be getting a new Tumblr soon, so keep checking my page for the link this weekend. There, I'll post my "tentative cast" and playlist and shit like that so I can keep you guys updated on my progress as well. I'm so happy - almost 16,000 hits and 300+ alerts and 97+ reviews! Oh my Dumbledore, I love you guys. Thank you so much for all the support! I'm so excited to write the next chapter...

...but alas, I must go and study for my History of Europe & Spanish Ab Initio exams! No me gusta. Har har har.

SONGS USED that I do not own:  
><em>If I Were You <em>- Diagram of the Heart  
><em>Smile for the Paparazzi <em>- Cobra Starship

OKAY, SELF, GO BACK TO STUDYING NAO.

Reviews would be _loverlyyyyyy_.

Love,

Sam

PS. I'm planning on making a series of short vignettes about Danielle and Blaine's relationship. Would you guise like to read them?


	6. Chasing Pavements

And you're sitting in the front row: wanna be first in line  
>Waiting by my window, giving me all your time<br>You could be my hero, if only I could let go  
>But his love is still in me, like a broken arrow<p>

* * *

><p><em>but one stray fist hit kurt straight in the eye<em>

**CHAPTER **six_  
>Chasing Pavements<em>  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You<span>  
>by littlemusings<p>

* * *

><p>When Kurt was in high school, he dreamed that being fought over by two men would be the best thing in the world. In his head, before he started dating Blaine, he always imagined the a very handsome lad in a fight against another equally handsome young man, arguing in loud voices (in <em>French<em>) and pushing one another, fighting for Kurt's love while he, Kurt, stood on the sidelines looking dramatic. After he had gotten together with Blaine in high school, he imagined his boyfriend defending him from another cruel, wannabe suitor. Unfortunately, the movies always made these scenarios seem better than they actually looked, and he would have preferred something like that to happen in the comforts of his own home, on his doorstep with the two men attempting to ask him out.

But, no, instead of being hit by his fantasy, he was hit with reality. _Blaine_ and _Anthony _had broke out into a fistfight for him, and it wasn't as pleasant as he dreamed a love triangle to be. There were no corny, lovelorn lines thrown about, just expletives and fists. And they didn't shout at each other in French. …And they didn't conduct this argument in the peace of Kurt's home, no. They fought right in front of everyone he knew. Well, _almost _everyone.

Throughout the entire night, Kurt felt the tensions run high between Blaine and Anthony, and it was making his head spin like crazy. He used to think that he would get over being far away from Blaine and being involved in a long-distance relationship by ending said relationship and entering a new one in his new place. Now, despite feeling happy the first time he had met Anthony, he felt bitter and resentful and confused now that Blaine was back in his life.

People always told Kurt he was a very smart, intelligent and incredibly sarcastic young man.

Where was the man they were talking about?

He was sitting in the corner of one of the Palace Hotel's elevators, nursing a bruised, blackened eye and crying freely, hugging himself. He felt pathetic. He felt more alone than ever, despite Finn chasing after him, and his family texting him continuously, asking where he was. Once the elevator reached the first floor, he pushed through a crowd of people – paparazzi, most likely – who were trying to get his picture. He stopped in front of them, furious.

"Don't you people have anything better to do?" he shouted, and then he hurried past them. He heard his elevator open and close, and the other elevator open behind him.

"Kurt!" Anthony shouted.

Kurt just kept on running, running to catch a cab to the only place he felt safe, the only place he deemed his one true haven.

* * *

><p>"Come on, come on," Duke grumbled irritably, pressing the elevator button, dragging a drunk Danielle with Blaine's assistance. There were several guards blocking the reporters from getting at them, but it wasn't the reporters whom Blaine was furious with at the moment, as if the fight he just had with Anthony was nothing. He turned to Duke and gave him an incredibly angry look.<p>

"She got drunk," he snapped.

"Mr. Anderson, can you confirm the rumors that you're having an affair with Mr. Kurt Hummel?"

"Fuck off!" Duke shouted to the reporters. "Oh my God, Blaine, you just got sucker-punched in the face and…" his voice trailed off as the elevator opened and they piled in, Duke continuously pressing the close button.

"_Blaine Anderson! Are you still in love with Kurt Hummel?"_

Finally, the door slid shut and the elevator moved upwards to their floor.

"Look at all the pretty buttons," Danielle hiccupped, laughing to herself as Duke set her down in the corner of the elevator. "Look, Buh-layney, they're yellow! They're y-y-yellow!"

She began to laugh hysterically, falling to her side. Blaine grumbled to himself and sat next to her, his arm over her tentatively.

"First of all, Blaine, you are the craziest man on this planet."

"You guys suggested for me to do this in the first place."

"Well, as you said, now there's a '_fucking media craze_.'"

"Well, Duke, as you said, '_don't give a shit_,'" Blaine retorted. "How the hell could you let her run off and drink?"

"Driiiiink?" Danielle asked loudly. "Bee, get me one more tequila, and let's party the hell out this fucking place!" she said in a giggly tone, poking his sides. Blaine jolted slightly and muttered '_shit_'.

"She's absolutely wasted, Duke. I told you not to let her out of your sight!" Blaine snapped.

"She was being PMS-y and stuff."

"_PMS-y and stuff_?"

"Pew, pew, pew!" she said quietly, making gun-like onomatopoetic sounds with the cocktail umbrella she was still playing with. Blaine took it from her and stuffed it in his pocket crossly.

"Blaine, you need some ice for your face."

"Yeah, yeah," Blaine griped, "Why the hell was she being 'PMS-y' then? Explain that to me. What pissed her off so much that she actually walked to the fucking bar and drank god knows how many shots?"

"Um. Well, to be honest, I don't know," Duke said timidly. "She was talking about Jamie and seemed angry about her looking at me and stuff…"

"Jamie? That girl's a bitch! A bitch, I must say!" Danielle said matter-of-factly. "Fuckin' microscopic dress and beehive-bun hair!"

Blaine rolled his eyes and looked at his sister, who was looking at him goofily.

"I can cross my eyes, lookie!"

And she did so.

"She is _so _wasted."

"What are you going to do about Kurt?" Duke asked seriously as the elevator dinged. They were finally on their floor. Blaine helped a pouting Danielle up and they walked towards the siblings' room.

Blaine looked at his manager and friend, sighing and his eyes already stinging. "I don't know."

Duke unlocked the door and led the siblings in. He sat on the couch as Blaine led Danielle into her bedroom. Afterwards, Blaine, after getting into a short shouting match with his sister ("Dan, get into your jeans and t-shirt!" "Blainey, I don't want to! Look at me, I'm a princess!" "Come on, I won't look!" "Bro, you ain't making me go back to Canada with all of them Mounties and shit!" "Since when did you get so profane?"), walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He collapsed on the couch across from Duke, looking absolutely miserable.

Sighing, Duke stood up, walked to the refrigerator, and quickly wrapped some ice in a towel, handing it to Blaine, who took it gratefully.

"She's asleep now, I think," Blaine said roughly, wincing as the cool cloth touched his face. Duke looked at him nervously.

Silence.

"I don't know if it was worth all the trouble," Blaine said finally. "He didn't say anything half the time. All I got out of this was an unresponsive ex and a beating from his crazy fiancé."

"He ran out of the ballroom. You could have…well…"

"Don't say I should have followed him, because that would have made things worse."

Duke's lips narrowed into a thin line. "What really happened earlier when you two actually held a more than ten minute conversation before the party?"

"He wants to meet me tomorrow, which I don't think is going to pull through anymore."

"You never know, Blaine. You have his number?"

Blaine rummaged through his pockets and pulled out the black contact card. "Right here."

"Text him in the morning."

"Excuse me," Blaine said, gaping at him, half his face covered with the ice pack. "I don't think so. Anthony's such a controlling asshole. He's what Finn would call a…a '_controllist_.' He probably took _his_ phone."

"Don't always assume things, my friend."

"Are we scheduled for anything tomorrow?" Blaine asked suddenly. Duke shrugged and shook his head. "Can you bring Danielle back to Toronto?"

"_What_?"

"Duke, she's intoxicated. She needs to sleep on her way there, and I don't trust her with anyone else. It's a few hours away. She's got to get to her afternoon classes or else my dad's going to throw a hissy fit on Skype later this week."

Duke stared at him in disbelief. "Are you saying that I have to _drive _her there?"

"Take the chauffer and the car in about an hour. Her bags are packed already, anyway. It's about an eight hour drive. If you leave now, you can be back here by the afternoon. It's just past midnight."

Duke thought for a moment and sighed. "Fine. It's kinda weird that you were yelling at me for letting her run around."

"Mistakes happen. We're definitely not telling my parents. She's turning twenty-one next week anyway and I can't always watch her now."

"I'll take care of her, don't worry. I'll make it up to you."

"Thanks, Duke." Blaine smiled, a tear falling down his cheek. Attempting not to show any emotion, Duke jumped up and down, and walked to Danielle's bedroom.

* * *

><p>Duke found Danielle jumping on the bed quietly in her bedroom. Rolling his eyes and closing the door behind him, he stared at her, arms folded, frowning. She was already wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a loose-fitting white baseball t-shirt with a graphic design of a woman in sunglasses and black, long sleeves. The shirt she always wore back in high school whenever he and Blaine visited Westerville. She was even wearing bright neon-blue wayfarers, and rainbow toe socks.<p>

"You look ridiculous," he snorted. Danielle jumped up in the air, and folded her legs, landing in a sitting position.

She looked at him, her mouth wide open. "Hi, Dukey," she said sweetly. Duke knew underneath those blue wayfarers, her eyes were wide open and extremely dilated. "Sit down right here," she said goofily, patting the space next to her. Duke obliged and sat here, staring at her.

"We're going back to Toronto in a few," he sighed. She pulled off her sunglasses, looking insulted.

"NO! I am not going to school!" she said, standing up on the bed, pointing at him. "Give me another shot. Come on, Dukey, you know you wa-a-ant to," she said, pulling at his tie suggestively, wagging a finger to beckon him forward. Blushing furiously and taken aback, Duke tugged back his tie.

"Dani, come on," he groaned, grabbing her hand. "You have classes in the afternoon."

"Fuck those classes," she scoffed, her hand held in a forty-five degree angle. "I'm in New York, baby!" She looked back down at him and put on her sunglasses again. Plopping down next to him, she scooted uncomfortably close next to him. Duke flinched, but allowed her to close the distance between them. "Duke," she said quietly in his ear, her breath smelling like tequila, "I love you. I love you, I love you, and I love you."

Duke flushed an even deeper shade of red. "Dani," he hesitated, backing up, "Come on, let's go—"

He stood up and she fell forward, face-first onto the mattress. She shot back up immediately. "Go where?"

"…Um…my…um…" he mumbled. "My car."

"Oooh," she said excitedly, clapping her hands together.

Duke sighed in relief. He was making progress. "Come on. Close your eyes, I'll carry you there," he muttered. He held out his arms, and she immediately jumped into them, making him jerk forward uncomfortably, but after a second, it felt comfortable to have her in his arms, smiling right at him. Just when he thought his face couldn't get any warmer, it did.

"Now what?" she asked excitedly.

"Okay…so, close your eyes. I can tell they're open, Miss Anderson," he said gently. She wrapped her arms around his neck tighter. He pulled off her sunglasses quickly, catching her legs again, made his way towards the door. He leaned back and reached out a hand to open the bedroom door and walked out. Blaine was already waiting by the door.

"See you, Dani," he said, kissing his sister's cheek. "Love you, kid. Don't drink anymore."

"Sure thing," she smirked, her eyes still closed shut. "I lo-lo-love you too, Bumble Bee Buckeye!"

"I'll be out later, so just text me when you get back across the border," Blaine told Duke, who nodded. Blaine opened the door to the hotel room and let them walk out.

* * *

><p>The taxi immediately halted in front of his condominium building. Kurt threw money towards the driver and hurried out, his heart hammering quickly. He ignored the bellboy's greeting and impatiently pressed the elevator button. He hurried into the elevator, tapping his foot anxiously. "Come <em>on<em>, please," he moaned. Finally, the elevator opened to his and Anthony's floor, and he rushed to his door, fumbling with his keys. He managed to steady his shaking hand and opened the door. He pulled off his dinner coat, threw it on the couch, and went straight for his personal studio.

As always, it was his personal hideaway whenever something happened. He pulled open the smooth, white door, but felt another hand grab his wrist. Freezing in place, he turned around, tears streaming from his blue-green eyes. Anthony.

"What do you want?" he cried, pulling away. He attempted to push the studio door shut right in Anthony's face. Anthony stopped it with his hand and looked desperately at Kurt, eyes red. "Go away!" Kurt shouted.

"Please, we need to talk," Anthony said quietly. Kurt looked at him, his eyes stinging; his punched eye throbbing madly.

"Just look at what happened," Kurt said hoarsely, gesturing towards himself. "Look. Do I look like I want to talk, Marksman?"

"Kurt," Anthony said gently, taking a hold of Kurt's hand. Kurt jerked it away immediately. "Babe, please."

"Don't '_babe_' me, Anthony, '_now's not the time_,_'" _Kurt mocked, and he tried with all his might to push the door shut, but Anthony walked before he could.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. Kurt hugged himself, shaking madly. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I'm so sorry I punched you, I'm sorry I let my temper loose. I'm so, so sorry."

Kurt bit his lip, his chest heaving, letting more tears spill over. Anthony walked towards him and put his hands on Kurt's shoulders. He let go of one and took a finger to pull up Kurt's chin. Kurt shook his head and continued to look down.

Frustrated, Anthony let go and plopped down on the couch, running a hand through his hair. "Kurt, I just wanted to know what that whole thing was about. You disappearing at the beginning of the party, you trying to avoid looking at Blaine—"

"Don't—" Kurt gasped. "Don't say…don't say his name."

"You know you want me to," Anthony said spitefully, his elbows on his knees. "You clearly still love him, Kurt. And not me."

Kurt finally looked up and wiped his eyes. "Anthony…"

"You love Blaine Anderson still, Kurt. I know this. You've never been completely honest with me. I always see it in your eyes. Despite how tough-as-nails you present yourself to be…ever since I asked you to marry me, you started to become more distant."

"How?" he mumbled, walking slowly and sitting next to Anthony.

"After being your boyfriend for two years, Kurt, I know you," he said bitterly – though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "When we started dating, you seemed lost. Like…like there was something holding you back."

"Really," Kurt said, almost sarcastically. "Explain."

"Do you remember when I first asked you to be my boyfriend?" Anthony sighed, leaning back on the couch now. "You looked startled, speechless, and your eyes were looking elsewhere."

"You remember all the little details," Kurt said, bemused.

"Why would I forget? You pretty much froze and stared at me afterwards and nodded in the coffee shop."

Kurt sniffed, affronted. "Hey, any guy would, being asked out."

"It was a different kind of stare."

"Since when did you become the master of stares?" Kurt snorted.

"Since I met you," he said, looking at Kurt sadly. "I don't know, the way you looked at me, and the way you looked at Blaine tonight…they were two completely different looks."

"One, I always look at you lovingly – it's in my nature, and two, I was giving B…Blaine flabbergasted looks that could only be challenged by Rachel Berry."

"'Flabbergasted,' as in 'oh, shit, I'm still in love with you, oh my god, you're singing for me,'" Anthony said crossly. "And looking at me 'lovingly'? More like 'oh my god, stop talking.'"

Kurt stared at the floor in silence.

"What I've been wondering, Kurt – why did you say yes to me when I asked you to…marry me?"

"I just…I just thought I could…" Kurt began, but the words were caught in his throat. "I just thought I could fill the space that I left myself when I broke up with Blaine three years ago."

Anthony looked at him in disbelief. "So, all this time – I've just been…I've just been a space saver, a placeholder? For _him?_ Come on, what is it that he has that I don't have, Kurt? I honestly don't understand it at all."

Kurt stared at him hopelessly. "Are you seriously asking me that question, Anthony? Are you _fucking serious_?"

"After all that's happened? Yeah. I have a right to know, especially since I pretty much _proposed _to you and you said _yes_, and because of the whole party debacle. Plus the fact that you've been denying little dates and have been locking yourself in your studio every other day since our engagement."

"Oh," Kurt said in a small voice.

"What is it about Blaine Anderson?"

Kurt inhaled and exhaled deeply, his hands cupped together in his lap. His eyes were stinging again, and he said shakily, "You…you just…you just aren't him."

"I'm not Blaine Anderson. That's obvious. He's talented, he's handsome, everyone wants him—"Anthony blinked, holding back tears. "Why, Kurt, why did you do this to me? After everything—"

"Annie—"

"I know I've done some crazy things before, Kurt, but, but we always talked about it. And this—why didn't you tell me before I asked you to marry me?"

"I couldn't bring myself to hurt you, Anthony," Kurt responded. "You…you were the one person who actually believed in me the whole time I was here. I don't know what I was thinking, putting you through all of this…"

"I don't know what I was thinking, falling in love with someone who I know won't love me back as much."

"I did l-love you," Kurt blubbered.

He whispered, "'_Did_.'"

"I'm so sorry…"

"I'm calling off our engagement," Anthony said quietly, standing up, pulling off his ring. He threw it on the coffee table. "I'm not going to land myself in an unrequited relationship, Kurt. I just can't. And you should seriously know who you want, because the more you do this to yourself, the less of a chance you'll get with Blaine."

"Anthony," Kurt gasped, scrambling to pick up his now ex-fiance's engagement ring. "Please. Where are you going?" he asked, grabbing his wrist.

"I'm going to my cousin's house. I'll be back tonight or tomorrow morning."

"Are you moving out?" Kurt asked.

Anthony gave him a look that confirmed his fears.

And with that, Anthony Marksman walked out of the studio, out of the condominium, and out of Kurt's life.

Or so it seemed.

Kurt fell to his knees and cried.

* * *

><p>"Duke?"<p>

"Wait, what, Jamie?"

Still carrying Danielle, he nearly dropped her when he saw Jamie as the elevator stopped on the Villard Ballroom floor on the way down. Jamie's eyes narrowed as she walked into the elevator, standing next to Duke and a seemingly asleep Danielle Anderson. It seemed that the Villard Ballroom had cooled down since an hour ago, and the guests were sent home early.

"What? She's in here?" Danielle snapped, her eyes still shut.

"Shhh, quiet," Duke said desperately. Jamie smirked at him.

"Intoxicated, isn't she?"

"Obviously," he said apologetically, earning him a frown from Danielle. "What happened after we all left?"

"Kurt, as you saw, won't answer his phone, and his parents are looking for him everywhere. I had to make a quick public speech to the media and had to make sure they won't post any photos, which is unlikely."

"Kurt and my brother dated," Danielle said smartly. Duke looked at her, mouth wide open.

"I know," Jamie sniffed.

"You're a bitc—" Danielle began.

Thankfully, Duke cut her off. "—So I guess I'll see you sometime again?" he asked as the elevator finally dinged and reached the first floor. Jamie looked at him slyly.

"You obviously have other plans," she said, now looking at Danielle, and walked out, beehive-hair, black dress, heels, and all.

* * *

><p><em>Kurt, there is a moment when you say to yourself, 'Oh, there you are, I've been looking for you forever'.<em>

_Kurt, I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since the day I met you. _

_Watching you sing Blackbird this week, that was the moment for me. About you._

_Here…I've brought you some roses. I know you probably think I'm cheesy, but, Kurt Hummel, I'm head-over-heels for you._

_You move me, Kurt._

_You inspire me, Kurt._

_Singing this duet with you would just be an excuse to…spend more time with you._

_Kurt E. Hummel, will you marry me? _

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you, too. _

Kurt kicked his coffee table in frustration, and fell back on his couch, tears streaming down his face. He saw his iPhone on the floor, the screen blinking – _New Text. _

He reached his hand out and unlocked his iPhone.

_Hey. –B _

B.

Blaine.

* * *

><p>He didn't know why he did it. He just picked up his phone, pulled out Kurt's calling card, and texted him. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.<p>

Blaine tossed his Blackberry aside and continued to let the ice melt on his face.

There were three problems in his life at the moment.

First, his sister was piss-ass drunk.

Second, his initial plans went up in flames.

Third, he texted the boy he was in love with.

His Blackberry beeped. Groaning, he leaned over to pick it up again, his heart beating quickly.

_1 New Message_.

_Hey, yourself. Savore Ristaurante. SoHo. 6PM. We need to talk. – K_

K.

Kurt.

* * *

><p>"Okay, you can open your eyes now," Duke said as they arrived at the limo. The chauffer gave him an appraising look, but Duke mouthed '<em>she's drunk<em>,' and the chauffer nodded apologetically. Danielle's eyes flew open and she hopped out of Duke's arms and she entered the limo excitedly.

"So, where are we going again?" she asked, holding her head. Duke sat next to her, and the driver shut the door and went to the front. Duke was incredibly happy that the mini-window between the passenger area and the driver area was closed, because he didn't want to embarrass himself or Danielle.

"Remember, we're going back to Toronto?"

"Are you eloping with me?" she said dreamily, leaning onto his shoulder. Duke blinked again and muttered something about _never letting her touch alcoholic drinks ever again_, and shook his head.

"No, I am not," he said stiffly. "I don't take advantage of people when they're intoxicated."

"Intoxicated, I am not," she said in denial, shaking her head. "You know I love you."

"That's good," he responded, patting her shoulder delicately. Once the rest of Danielle's bags and such were loaded into the trunk, the chauffer began to drive.

"Road trip!" she cheered, and began to search through the mini-fridge in the back of limo. "Duke, there's no champagne. In the movies they have champagne," she pouted.

"What a pity," he smirked. _Good call, Blaine. _

"Just water."

"Yeah, just water."

Silence.

"I'm bored, Duke. Like, su-u-u-per bored."

"Go to sleep, Dan."

"No thanks, I don't feel like it," she said giddily. "Can I just kiss you instead?"

"Wha—"

And with that, Danielle pulled him by his dark hair and crashed her lips into his with a sudden desperation. Startled, Duke actually kissed her back.

Duke was panicking. After they separated, Danielle smiled at him, and immediately fell asleep on his shoulder. Breathing heavily, he ran a hand through his hair and looked at her.

_Oh my god, Danielle Anderson. _

* * *

><p><strong>Monday  1PM / The Palace Hotel**

Blaine sat up on the couch, his head throbbing and eyesight blurry. He looked around and realized he was still on the couch of the suite's living room, and the television was on with its volume at full blast. He felt around for his phone, and picked it up.

_1:00PM_

"Oh dear god," Blaine groaned. He sat up, and his head felt like lead. Irritated, he got off the couch and walked like a sloth towards his bedroom bathroom, phone still in hand. It beeped several times.

_10 new messages_.

Sighing, he opened each and every one of them, stopping at the bedroom doorway.

_Dude, idk how to tell you this, but I think your sister just kissed me_

Duke. Sent at two a.m.

_Ok, she's sleeping now, thank god_

_I'll talk to u later_

Duke. Sent at three a.m.

_Bee omg my head fuckin hurts; what did I do last night?_

_Duke is looking at me funny _

It was from Danielle, sent at eight in the morning, and his sister also sent the rest of the messages.

_I'm so sorry, buckeye, I'm so, so, so, so, so sorry_

_Please don't tell mom and dad_

_I swear you can sign me up for Alcoholics Anon. if you want; I'm so sorry Bee_

_I promise never to drink again, shit, this hangover sucks_

_Kick Kurt's ass for me_

_I really want aspirin right now, but I don't think I have any_

_Call my cell later – I'll pay for whatever extra shit you have on your monthly bill_

_Please please please call me once you get my texts, I'm so, so sorry Bumblebee: I love you_

Blaine immediately responded with a simple: _I got your texts, Dan. I'll call you later. Major headache. Don't worry about a thing. Love you, too. _He threw his phone on his bed and rushed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Blaine looked at his reflection in the mirror apathetically, turning on the sink. He splashed water on his face and a wave of relief hit him when he realized that he had no bruises, just a minor cut on his cheek. Yet, his back and entire torso felt sore, which reminded him of the fiasco that was last night's party. He flicked droplets of water at his reflection, and immediately undressed and went into the shower, letting the hot water hit his skin.

"To meet him at the restaurant, or to _not _meet him at the restaurant?" he mumbled to himself, rubbing shampoo onto his curly hair, attempting to get rid of the gel he used the night before. _Ugh, I feel gross. _"Decisions, decisions. Look at your life and look at your choices, Blaine Anderson."

He finished his shower and got dressed, not caring to put on his hair gel. _If I'm going to go out in public later, I might as well attempt to disguise myself. _He walked back to the living room and plopped onto the couch, turning the television on. Of course, as always, _E! Live _was playing on television, and the first thing on the news was, obviously –

"_Party crashing! Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, and Anthony Marksman – a love triangle that rivals historic ones indeed: Blaine and Anthony fight for one Kurt E. Hummel. More later with our special party correspondent, Micah Landon!"_

Irritated, Blaine shut off the television and checked his watch.

He still had four and a half hours until he had to meet Kurt at SoHo.

* * *

><p>Kurt was furious for four reasons.<p>

One, his fiancé just dumped him.

Two, his eye was aching. He presumed he had a black eye.

Three, his fiancé just dumped him.

Four, he forgot to do his moisturizing routine the night before. Now, his face was red and splotchy, like his bloodshot eyes.

When he woke up the next morning in his bed, alone, the events of the night before reared their ugly head in his memory bank, making his temple throb irritably. He put on his black, silky bathrobe, and shuffled in his equally black, wooly slippers, to his and Anthony's —but now, just _his _– kitchen.

He had to admit; he missed seeing Anthony in the kitchen every morning, making coffee for the both of them, attempting to sing songs by cult artists.

"_Good morning, sunshine._"

Kurt shook his head furiously, rubbing his eyes, and made a pot of coffee just for himself. He looked up at the kitchen clock and his mouth hung wide open.

Three o'clock PM. He had three hours to look fabulous, even though he knew he would be hurting everyone all over again, despite how wonderful he looked.

* * *

><p>"<em>I need aspirin," <em>Danielle croaked into the phone. Blaine, already dressed in a simple v-necked t-shirt and black suspenders, put his phone down on the coffee table, turning on the speaker.

"As do I," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Danielle, I told you to stay away from the bar."

"_I'm sorry,_" she mumbled. "_I'm really sorry, Bee._"

"Dan, please promise me you're not going to drink there."

"_Oh, I sure will promise,_" she said adamantly. "_Oh my God, I have class soon and my head hurts, oh my God." _

"Not my fault," Blaine snorted. "Listen, don't call me tonight. I'm going to...I'm going to meet Kurt for dinner."

"_What?"_

"Yes, _Danielle_, I am going to meet…Kurt," he muttered, "for dinner. In SoHo."

"_He's still engaged, you twat_," Danielle gasped.

Blaine gave his phone a simpering look. "We're just having a proper, civil meeting, okay? Nothing…along the romantic lines. I just want to apologize for the problems I caused last night."

"_Right, right, then I'll find out in US Weekly that you two were caught canoodling in your hotel room._"

"'Canoodling'," Blaine said in disbelief. "Really, Dani, really? What time did Duke leave there?"

"_Right after he dropped me off. I texted him, and he replied. Told me he was close to the border. He was acting…um, peculiar. He was all red and shit._"

"I think I know why," he muttered to himself.

"_What was that? I didn't hear you._"

"Nothing, kiddo, I've got to go. It's already four-thirty, and I still need to get down to SoHo."

"_Fine. Any news of canoodling and you owe me fifty dollars._"

"Danielle!"

"_Kidding—ow, my head, shit," _she groaned. "_Love you, Bee. I'm sorry again._"

"Love you too, Dan. And don't worry, I've got you." With that, he hung up his Blackberry, and stuffed it in his pocket. He grabbed his cardigan, Ray Bans, and hurried out of his hotel room.

* * *

><p>Kurt was nervous and sitting in his car, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He was already parked outside of Savore Ristaurante, heart pounding. It was five-thirty, and he was still questioning his sanity and the reason why he was meeting Blaine in the first place. He managed to escape from his apartment building quickly, avoiding wandering members of the press, and he hoped last night Anthony managed to do so, and Blaine, on his way here.<p>

He sighed bumped his forehead on the steering wheel, grabbed his Jacobs bag, and hurried out of the car and into the restaurant.

He was lucky no one was there. It was Monday night, after all. He waved to the manager, who he knew very well, and sat at a back table. A waitress walked over, but Kurt pointed to the empty chair across from him, and she nodded in recognition, backing away and heading back to the kitchens.

_I'm insane. I just…I just split with Anthony and…_

"Kurt," a voice came out of nowhere. Kurt looked up and saw Blaine standing there, biting his bottom lip, a common gesture he knew him to do when he was nervous.

"Hi, have a seat," Kurt said, gesturing towards the spare seat. Blaine sat down, hands in his lap.

The waitress hurried over and handed them their menus politely.

"Good evening, gentlemen, my name is Cecille, and I'll be your waitress for the evening. Just call when you're ready to order."

Both men nodded politely, and she walked away.

Silence.

"You should…you should try the fettuccine, if you're still a big fan of fettuccine alfredo," Kurt mused, flipping the pages of the menu idly. "It's quite good."

Blaine looked up from his menu and smiled awkwardly. "I'll take that into consideration. Are you still a fan of spaghetti?"

"Blaine, I dated you. You should know that I absolutely love all sorts of Italian food."

The shorter man laughed nervously. "I'm getting the fettuccine."

"I'm getting the spaghetti."

They both burst out laughing. The waitress came over and took their orders.

"He's taking the fettuccine, I'm getting the spaghetti," Kurt said awkwardly, and the waitress nodded, taking down their orders.

"Any drinks?"

"Iced tea for me," Blaine opted, holding up a finger. Kurt shrugged.

"Diet Coke, please," he grinned. The waitress finished writing and nodded to them.

"I'll be out in a jiffy with your orders," she said politely, and walked back to the kitchen again.

Blaine looked at Kurt's fingers. There was no glittering engagement ring.

"Kurt—" Blaine began.

"—Blaine," Kurt responded softly.

"I'm so sorry about last night. I really, truly am," Blaine huffed, looking at Kurt apologetically. "I didn't mean to cause such a fuss, especially at your engagement party—"

"…For an engagement that's never going to result in marriage," Kurt said bitterly, smiling at him sheepishly. Blaine stared at him, mouth agape and eyes wide.

"I—oh my god, Kurt," he stuttered, though inside his heart and mind were both cheering. "I'm sorry."

"I would say 'that's okay,' but it was pretty much my entire fault," Kurt muttered, leaning back in his seat. "Anyway, that conversation's for later. Let's…let's catch up."

"To be honest, this is very awkward," Blaine said, laughing. Kurt looked up at Blaine, smirking.

"Very," he responded. "So…three years."

"Three years," Blaine mused.

Silence, again.

"We've become experts in the silent game, haven't we?" Kurt snorted. They both burst out laughing again.

"In the silent game and in the single's department," Blaine added. "But really, Kurt…tell me about the past three years. You still owe me that explanation," he said seriously. Kurt took a deep breath.

"Of course, I'll tell you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

FIRST TIME A CHAPTER HAS NOT BEEN NAMED BASED ON INGTHHTDWY LYRICS. WEWT.

Meep. This seems like a filler chapter to me. Rather, a shitty chapter in my opinion, compared to the others, but it's all up to you and what you think. Haha. I promise, the full, proper conversation will most definitely be in the next chapter. STORY TIME WITH KURT AND BLAINE. It sounds like a television show. I'm excited to write it. I'M DONE WITH FINALS. I AM SO HAPPY. I passed them all, so thank you for those who wished me well. AND YUS, DANUKE. Yes, there was Danuke. Oh, how I love Danuke.

DRUNK!Dani and DRUNK!Rachel would be best friends.

**UPDATE. I HAVE A TUMBLR NOW. IT'S littlewizardmusings. **Ta-daaaaa.

Also, I've created the full soundtrack. Who's interested in a download link? I also need someone to create an album cover, if that's not too much trouble~ (only if you guys actually want an album download, haha).

Again, pardon the not-on-par chapter. I've been busy with school clearance and whatnot. Silly Philippine Typhoon Falcon postponed my last two exams, so I had to study the entire past Saturday and Sunday.

And to respond to Haydee, yes, a lot of Danielle's personality is based on mine. Except the lust for drinking part. I would never drink for I are a good girl, yes I are.

A lot of this chapter was based on my experiences. /corny, yes. (Nothing to do with drunken kisses & stuff, I promise you.)

If you want any updates other than your e-mails from FanFiction, check out my twitter, cheesesamwich.

Love,

Sam

PS. **Reviews would be delicious. **Keep 'em coming, I love you all for your wonderful words and support.

PSS. SORRY FOR THE LONG NOTE, BUT **CastleAddiction**, I LOVE YOU, GUHH. I swear, despite how many times she will deny this, she has ESP or something.

PSSS. I have a new one-shot collection started up. It's called "Of French and Notebooks," if you'd love to read it. Full of Klaine goooodneeessss.

**DISCLAIMER OF DOOM: **I don't own Glee. Or else there would be fluffy kittens. And Klainebows. I don't even own any songs used in this story.

The song in the beginning was Pixie Lott's "Broken Arrow". Buh-rilliant.


	7. Civillized and Non Romantic

But I still think that we're in love

* * *

><p><em>look at your life, and look at your choices, blaine anderson<br>_

**CHAPTER **seven_  
>Civilized and Non-Romantic<em>  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You<span>  
>by littlemusings<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>In the silent game and in the singles' department," Blaine added. "But really, Kurt…tell me about the past three years. You still owe me that explanation," he said seriously. Kurt took a deep breath.<em>

"_Of course I'll tell you." _

* * *

><p>"While we eat, of course," Blaine laughed. "We don't want a good over-dinner conversation to go to waste."<p>

Kurt smirked. "Always the gentleman. You weren't much of a gentleman last night."

"Hey, you weren't either," Blaine scoffed. "And, may I remind you, three years ago as well."

"Blaine, we haven't even gotten our drinks yet," Kurt pouted, folding his arms. "Oh, God, I think I'm going to need a fucking nice, strong brandy after this conversation."

"Be my guest," the shorter man said politely. "I believe I shall need one as well."

"Dapper, as always."

"Of course."

"And it's killing me. What happened to your bitter attitude last night?" Kurt exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. Blaine shrugged and blinked, looking at Kurt with a sly grin. "Oh god, Blaine, don't give me that look. Not _that _look."

"You're single."

"And do you think that's funny?"

"No. You're single," Blaine said simply. "That obviously explains my sudden change in attitude. You were asking me to meet you while you were still engaged."

"Yeah, single, just like I was after I left you in that dingy flat in Los Angeles," Kurt said sardonically, frowning. "Hey, this is going to be a _civilized, non-romantic _meeting, whether I am single, taken, abducted by aliens, or anything along the lines."

"Hey, the apartment was actually pretty nice and classy. It wasn't 'dingy.' Okay. Fine. 'Civilized and non-romantic.'"

Kurt pursed his lips.

"Our room was classy, especially since you could see out to the ocean. Everything else in that cheap little apartment was saved by my amazing decorating skills."

"Funny how you mention the Los Angeles apartment. I moved out of it about a month later."

"No way," Kurt gasped. "All my hard work, gone to waste, picking color swatches and whatnot."

Blaine looked at him bitterly.

"Not to be rude," he began carefully, "But you _did _leave it all behind."

Kurt stared at him, his expression becoming softer. "Yeah. I know. If you don't mind me asking…what did you do with all of my extra stuff?"

"…It's all in storage in my San Francisco flat."

Kurt could only nod.

The waitress walked over to their table and handed them their drinks, which they were thankful for. Blaine immediately put the glass to his mouth and looked down at the floor as he drank. There was another pregnant pause hanging in the air as they both quickly finished their drinks to avoid any immediate conversation again.

Kurt looked up a little at Blaine, who was still looking down at the floor. He found it strange, that his usually chatty ex-boyfriend was so quiet and nervous. _Well, it's your entire fucking fault, Kurt. It's your entire fault. Just stop it. Stop looking at him. Oh, wait, we're at dinner together. Oh my god. And you're single. But he won't get you back that quickly. He just won't. He doesn't deserve you. What? What are you thinking?_ He cleared his throat and put down his glass of diet coke and Blaine finally looked back at him, raising his eyebrows. _Shit. What do I say now? Hmmm, what's one his favorite topics? Ah, yeah. Let's go. _

"So, Danielle finally drank for the first time?" Kurt hummed, leaning back in his seat. Blaine's expression and stance softened, and he smiled at the thought of his drunken sister. "I kinda saw Duke lugging her towards the stage last night."

"Yeah. I told her not to, though, since hangovers are pretty much a pain in the ass and she doesn't turn twenty-one until next week, but she was a bit pissed off at Duke and wanted something to distract her."

"She never drank a drop in Toronto?" Kurt asked confusedly, tilting his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing. "Funny, I thought the drinking age was lower there."

"Dan actually wanted to wait until she was back here in the US with me. She told me that her classmates had killer headaches the next day and it was impossible to take care of all of her friends, so she told me during her junior year that she would wait until I was with her, so I could watch her," Blaine shrugged, laughing at the memory.

"She's already graduating from college. That's amazing. I always thought she would do well despite her love for Korean pop and coloring books."

Blaine laughed.

"Yeah, I couldn't believe it, either. Dan's definitely out of those phases, even though I thought I caught her listening to K-Pop once. She _almost _went through all four years without drinking a drop. I'm proud of her, because we weren't so lucky. Remember the time Duke accidentally slipped something into your drink during that one Spring Break party at UCLA? Freshman year?" Blaine snorted.

Kurt groaned, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand. "I have not forgotten that. I will never go to Malibu ever again because of that."

"You were the one who told _me _to double-check all drinks I receive from others," Blaine countered.

"I wanted to avoid another Rachel Berry House Party Train-Wreck Extravaganza," Kurt sniffed indifferently. Blaine arched an eyebrow. "That was Santana and Mercedes' name for it," he added quickly.

"How _is _Rachel?" Blaine asked with fake interest. Kurt gave him an incredulous look. "I'm kidding. I know she's okay. I've kept in contact with her."

"She's probably the only McKinley person you've kept in contact since our…um…break-up," Kurt said gently. "Am I right?"

"You kind-of guessed right," Blaine said with a small smile. "When she heard about it, she was third to call after my sister and Duke."

"Always on top of things, Rachel Berry," Kurt muttered. _I should talk to Rachel later. I think she's staying at the Marriott. _"Anyone else you've talked to from high school lately—Dalton-wise, I mean?"

"Wes is in London, actually, teaching English at a private school. He arrived there a few months ago. David's studying for his doctorate in medicine in Chicago, so I'm going to see him when my tour stops by there later this week—he and Abby are still going strong. Trent's married now. He recently moved to D.C. because his wife works as a secretary in the Pentagon. Nick and Jeff are sharing an apartment somewhere in California, too. Sacramento, I think. They're planning to move up to LA."

"Wow," Kurt whistled. "That's great. I knew Wes would end up in the United Kingdom somehow. I remember during senior year, when he came to visit us at McKinley, trying to convince us that he was at least one tenth British."

"He still hasn't ruled it out," Blaine added.

"Oh, dear god. Next thing we know, he's going to end up seeing a geneticist and get proved completely wrong."

They both chuckled at the thought.

"How about your friends from McKinley?" Blaine asked.

Kurt shrugged. "Mercedes works at my sister company and also recently snagged a recording contract. She's in Ohio visiting family right now with Sam Evans—they're engaged, can you believe it? I think she's coming back this week…um, Finn, you know he's doing well in football and he's ever faithful to Quinn. Rachel is as pretentious and diva-ish as always, but you know that. Brittany and Santana also got married last year, did you know that?"

"Here, in New York?" Blaine said brightly, grinning.

"Obviously. Ohio's still as homophobic as always," Kurt rolled his eyes. "Naturally, 'Cedes, Sam, Rachel (before she moved to London, obviously), and I were able to make it since we all already lived here. Artie wasn't able to make it. Some big stuff in NASA or whatever and whatnot was going on."

"How was the wedding?"

"Insane. The greater half of Santana's family was there, so you could obviously feel just a tad bit of tension in the room. I think Rachel was panicking because she remembered Santana's little tirade against her back in high school. She didn't want another little '_Lima Heights Adjacent, yo tenny whatever_' speech."

Blaine snorted. "Of course she would panic."

"For once, she finally shut up," Kurt laughed at the thought. During the dinner, she was clutching her purse for dear life. I told her, '_Rachel, you do not need to panic. Obviously, we see no cutters and everyone is too impeccably dressed to initiate conflicts, so calm down, Barbra.'_ It was ridiculous. But overall, the wedding was beautiful. I think it would have been better if I had planned it myself, but _Wicked _was running during the time it happened."

"Ah. _Wicked_," Blaine said quietly, nodding his head. Kurt knew he hit a sore spot, so he proceeded to drink whatever was left in his glass of coke.

Finally, the waitress, as if she knew things were getting uncomfortable, appeared from the kitchens with their dinner. She set the plates down on their table and they began to eat.

"Oh, fettuccine," Blaine said appreciatively, munching on the noodles happily. "How I have missed you so."

"How long has it been since your last plate of fettuccine?" Kurt asked incredulously, rolling up noodles on his fork.

"Three years," Blaine said thoughtfully.

"_What_?" Kurt exclaimed, his blue-green eyes widening. "You can't be serious."

"A busy musician is…well, busy," Blaine shrugged.

"You honestly haven't had a plate of alfredo since I last made you some?"

"…Nope."

"You are crazy," Kurt laughed. Blaine aimed a playful kick at his legs under the table. Kurt narrowed his eyes and averted his legs. "You could have bought microwaveable fettuccine. It's somewhat good, though not as good as mine."

"Good? Are you kidding me? God, it tastes like space food," Blaine gagged.

"It depends on the brand!" Kurt said defensively, putting his fork to his mouth delicately. "This is delicious. Do you see why I go here?"

"Reminds me of Breadstix," Blaine said fondly.

Kurt nodded in agreement. "I miss the endless supply of breadsticks. Here in Savore however," he said, holding up his garlic bread to Blaine's face, "the garlic bread is impeccably delicious."

Blaine picked up his and bit it, chewing it tentatively. "It's quite good, but I actually miss the reheated frozen breadsticks from Ohio," he said with a smile.

"You _would_." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Of course, sir," Blaine said, grinning.

"You silly goose."

"As always."

"Still peculiar, as always," Kurt laughed.

"Anyway," Blaine began slowly, clearing his throat, "We're eating now, so I guess…I guess we should talk. About…about three years ago. About this whole…situation."

Kurt put another forkful of spaghetti in his mouth and chewed slowly, nodding. He picked up his cotton napkin and dabbed at his mouth gently. Swallowing, he rested his hands on the table and looked at Blaine straight in the eye.

"You really want to know?"

"Of course," Blaine said, taken aback.

"You're going to just…you're going to hate me forever. It…Blaine, let me just tell you, it was the biggest and stupidest mistake of my life, and I heartily regret it," Kurt whispered, his voice slightly trembling. Blaine shook his head.

"I've never hated you. Not even then," Blaine whispered back, his hand twitching. He hesitated, and patted Kurt's hand gently. "I…I just have the right to know if it was me, you, or just…life, you know?"

"That's the thing! It was _me_," Kurt groaned, pulling his hand away. "I was…I was stupid."

Blaine stared at Kurt.

"I never cheated on you, I promise you that," Kurt said firmly, looking Blaine in the eye.

"I know that," Blaine said softly. "You were never a potential cheater, just to let you know. I was with you almost 24/7 when we were…dating. I basically know you inside out, Kurt."

Kurt blushed. "True. Anyway…I had no idea what was running through my mind," he laughed bitterly, leaning his cheek on the palm of his hand, itching to run his hand through his hair. "First, I was with you at Anaheim Disneyland, and we were riding Space Mountain together, and I was complaining about my hair being ruined, and you gave me a kiss right before the first drop. I looked like shit, but I was so euphoric and so in love, I remember, it didn't mean a thing. The next thing I know, I get an e-mail from Joe Mantello—_the_ fucking Joe Mantello—telling me that he was impressed with my audition tape and was heading to California to have an audition for me for the latest NYC run of motherfucking _Wicked_. I felt both ecstatic and as if my stomach dropped…at the same time."

Kurt was at a loss for words, and gulped. Blaine nodded for him to continue politely.

"I remember you were running around the apartment like a boy who received ten pounds of candy," he said bemusedly.

"Yes, considering the fact he was considering me for the role of Elphaba. The first male Elphaba. It was weird, you know. Joe Mantello asking me to play a _male _Elphaba."

"I found it creative," Blaine offered. "Keep going."

"I don't know, I saw the look on your face when you found out I actually sent in a tape. You looked both confused and happy at the same time. You totally blew off the fact that I didn't tell you I was auditioning, and you told me to go for it. And that was the face that got me thinking: do I really want to leave him behind? Should I just…should I take the chance and fly off to New York, risking my relationship with the most wonderful guy in the universe? At first, I picked the obvious choice…staying with you. Like we always said…"

"…'_Our relationship before anything_, _because it's really the one thing that makes us whole_,'" they both said together. Blaine held his breath.

"Yes, I remember," Blaine, his chest aching, whispered. He picked at his fettuccine. "Go on."

"And then the audition date was set. I remember that you were going to come with me to the audition place, but you had to go to the studio with Duke for your second EP recording on the same day. I don't know why, but I was angry, which explains why I was so pissed that week. I just…I just lost it, and I started remembering my promises to myself back in high school. I told Rachel and myself during our junior year at the National Show Choir competition that we were both destined to go straight to New York after high school. And when I realized that I broke this promise, this one little dream I had…

"I just…I just started thinking. _What happened to my ambitions_? What happened to me, Kurt Hummel, who tried so hard to get into NYU? Oh, there he was, in Los Angeles, California, where he has to work even more side jobs, not start his fashion line, and send a tape to New York just to get recognized in the business he wanted to be in so badly, while his boyfriend, who was rejected from NYU for some _strange _reason, convinced him to go with him to Los Angeles—to watch him have _his _dreams come true? To have a record company pick him up right after college?

"I don't even know what the fuck was going through my mind. Was it jealousy? I don't know, it probably was. And that was what got me thinking…if I ended this, I wouldn't have to go through all of this. I…I'd…I'd get the most of what I wanted, and be successful and do what I wanted to do. But then, I thought of you, and how much you loved me, and how much I loved you…and I couldn't do it. So I shook those thoughts aside and kept on acting normal."

* * *

><p><em>Kurt turned up the volume of the television when he heard the front door open. Blaine walked through the threshold, a large grin on his face, and he sat right next to Kurt, kissing him on the cheek. <em>

"_Hey, babe," he said cheerfully. "Guess what?" _

"_What?" Kurt asked._

_Blaine didn't seem to notice the stoic tone in his voice. _

"_I'm recording my second EP this Saturday! Isn't that great?" he said excitedly. Kurt turned down the volume of the television. "It's just, I've been waiting to produce another album, and Duke and the team loved the new songs, so we're going to record it this weekend and release it next month!" _

_Kurt nodded slowly. "That's great, honey." _

_Blaine's smile wiped off his face gradually. "Are…are you okay, Kurt?" _

_Kurt sighed and stared at him. "Do I look okay?" _

"_No, you don't," Blaine muttered. "What's wrong?" _

"_My audition is this Saturday," Kurt said bluntly. "I thought you were going to go with me." _

_Recognition spread across Blaine's face, and he ran a hand through his curly hair. "Damn it, oh, God, I'm so sorry Kurt, I forgot—"_

"_Sure," Kurt said stiffly. "Like I forgot any of your major label meetings or other recordings," he said, his voice cracking. He stood up and walked straight down the hallway to their bedroom. _

* * *

><p>Blaine stared at him. <em>He…he left, because of me? <em>"So what I'm getting from this is that you left…because you were jealous."

"Oh my God, yes, I guess we can consider that a stupid, not really valid reason," Kurt laughed bitterly. "It's horrible. I was and still am a horrible boyfriend. I think I've been cursed. Like Ella Enchanted, she has the curse of obedience, I'm stuck with the curses of ruining my relationships _and _jealousy."

"Don't consider it a curse," Blaine laughed weakly. "Go on."

"So, after much thinking, I told myself: a relationship shouldn't be based on such petty jealousy. I lo…loved you, so, so much that it _hurt_. I didn't want to stay like this forever. Thing is, the belief that I was _so fucking jealous _was so engrained into my head that I caved into it…and that Saturday afternoon happened. When I yelled at you after my audition. I walked out of the building, and I just couldn't stop crying. I couldn't bring myself to call you, I couldn't bring myself…to just talk to you properly."

There were already tears in Kurt's eyes as he said this, and he was cupping his mouth in his hands, shaking. Blaine closed his eyes tightly and opened them again, fighting back tears. He took Kurt's hands.

"Kurt—"

"I couldn't bring myself to text you, or anything! As soon as I touched down in New York, I went to the Apple Store and bought a new iPhone. I couldn't, Blaine, I'm so sorry—please, I really hope you forgive me, please," Kurt sobbed.

Blaine looked at him hopelessly, tears free-falling from his eyes, and held Kurt's hands in his, gripping them tightly, but gently.

"I also thought…" Kurt choked, "That if…that if I weren't with you anymore while I was in New York…that…that it would have been easier than to be with you and so far away with you. I was scared, Blaine, I couldn't—I couldn't grasp the thought of being alone in New York, without you."

Kurt pulled away, looking down, his hands on his lap.

That was when Blaine stood up, knelt on the floor, and took Kurt's hands in his again.

"Hey, hey, Kurt," Blaine whispered hoarsely. "Don't…don't cry." He lifted Kurt's chin up with his finger. Blaine stood up, his hands still holding Kurt's, and smiled.

"I'm so, so, sorry," Kurt mumbled, letting go, holding his arms out. Blaine obliged and hugged him briefly. "I hurt you so much."

"Hey, I was oblivious, Kurt," Blaine whispered in his ear. He let go and held Kurt's hands again. _Blaine, be friendly. Be a good friend. A very good ex-boyfriend. Friend. Not boyfriend. You're his _friend, _Blaine. Back to phase one, not phase three. _"We both fucked up in the end." He dropped Kurt's hands.

"I guess you can say that, but I was the one who threw the punches," Kurt whispered, smiling awkwardly. "Oh, God, I hate crying."

"Nice kisser you have there," Blaine smirked, pointing towards Kurt's black eye.

"The cover-up under my eye is fading, isn't it?" Kurt blubbered, fishing through his Jacobs bag.

"Don't worry about how you look so much," Blaine joked.

"I have a black eye, Blaine, from last night," Kurt whimpered. "I woke up, and it was there. It's so…ugh."

"It's a battle scar."

"An ugly battle scar."

"Watch as the men flutter around you and gaze at your wonderfully macho-looking battle scar," Blaine quipped, laughing weakly.

Another brief silence as the two stared at each other.

"I…I bet you're hating me right now. I can see it in your eyes, Blaine."

"I told you before, I'd never hate you. Ever," Blaine smiled, wiping a tear from Kurt's face. "Come on, Kurt. Finish up your spaghetti." He gestured towards the half-full bowl on Kurt's side of the table. Blaine wiped his eyes on the sleeves of his cardigan.

Kurt quickly pulled out a blue handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes quickly, and pulled out a compact and a small bottle of cover-up. He opened it and dabbed some under his black eye, wincing.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine sighed, rolling his eyes, snatching the cover-up, putting the bottle on the table behind him.

"I was fixing my eye," Kurt grumbled.

"I can tell that it stings. Is it hypo-allergenic?" Blaine asked, grabbing the bottle and reading the composition of the make-up. Kurt snatched it back and applied a little more under his eye.

"Like you know about makeup," Kurt jested, smiling again.

"I have a younger sister, Kurt," Blaine said, hurt. "I'd know."

"Indeed you would, if she gave you makeovers. Which she did."

"How did you know?"

"Danielle told me _years _ago about what she did to you when you were in the hospital in the eighth grade."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "I was hospitalized, okay? She was bored so she decided to give me a makeover."

"Right," Kurt chuckled.

"So…about…I know this is a bad time, but about Anthony…" Blaine trailed off. "How did you guys…you know, meet?"

"Oh, Anthony," Kurt mumbled. _I almost forgot about him. _"To make a long story short—"

* * *

><p><strong>ten months after <strong>_**the los angeles summer **_**/ NYC**

_Kurt was exhilarated. He had just impressed the new editor-in-chief of _Vogue, _Marnie Cervico, with his impassioned defense of Doc Martens and skinny jeans, and she had just made him a regular correspondent for the world-famous magazine, and gave him a brand new Jacobs bag from her own private collection. She had even promised to help promote his new fashion line, Pavarotti, and take it to the next level by applying some of his outfits for that year's New York Fashion Week. _

_Plus, he had a show that night for Wicked, so he was pretty much in a hurry to get to the Gershwin Theater on time – he knew how much Director Montello loved early birds. _

_So, there he was, running out of the Vogue building, laden with papers and binders balancing in his arms; his new Marc Jacobs bag slung across his shoulders. He was grateful for the doorman when he reached the outside, and as he was waiting to cross the crosswalk, a tall figure rammed into him, Kurt's binders falling to the concrete, and the feeling of a hot liquid spilled all over his new bag and his white trench coat. _

"_Shit!" Kurt swore, getting to his knees. The taller man blinked and immediately stood up, holding out a hand to Kurt, who took it gruffly._

"_I'm so, so sorry," the man panicked. Kurt's heart froze—_

_The young man had dark brown, soft-looking hair (it was dyed, he believed), a perfect face, and quite literally, a perfect body. In sweats and a t-shirt. Kurt grimaced at the sweats, but ignored that fact immediately. _

_Then, he realized, that his Burberry trench coat and his new Marc Jacobs bag was ruined by a latte. _

"_You spilled your coffee all over me, you dimwit," Kurt snapped, throwing his arms up in frustration. "That was a new Jacobs bag, and I bought this coat just last month!" _

"_I'm really sorry," the man sighed, helping him pick up his papers and binder. "I'll make it up to you. How much was the coat?"_

"_Do you really want to know?" Kurt sneered, grimacing as he looked down at his jacket. The man gulped._

"_I'll buy you a new—wait, is that a Burberry?" the man asked, his eyes growing wide. Kurt's heart leapt and he nodded, numb. _

"_How did you know?" Kurt asked suspiciously. _

"_I know my brands," the man smirked. "Come on, I'll get you a new one." He picked up the rest of Kurt's papers and binders, and held them in his hands. _

"_I can't right now; I have rehearsal. You see, I work for _Wicked, _and our first show is in three weeks, so_—_"_

"_Oh! I see," the man exclaimed. "I'll help you with your things. The George Gershwin, right?" _

"_Yes. That would be nice." _

_They started walking down the street. _

"_I'm Kurt," Kurt said stiffly as they began walking. _Oh my god, I look gross with this coffee stain going down my bag and shirt. "_Kurt Hummel." _

"_Anthony, Anthony Marksman. Pleasure to meet you. I'd shake your hand, but I'm carrying your binders." _

* * *

><p>"—And from there, we went on dates for the next three weeks, and he showed up on opening night with a bouquet of roses. Cliché, yes, but I thought…well, I thought it was sweet," Kurt said indifferently. "So, that was ten romantic comedies in one."<p>

"But in the end…" Blaine began.

"…Yeah, we didn't end up together."

More silence.

"That was a bit like _our _'romantic comedy,' tragedy, whatever you call it," Blaine laughed. "I still remember those _When Harry Met Sally _jokes we exchanged back in high school."

"I will always be Meg Ryan," Kurt sniffed indifferently, his eyes slowly losing their red, blotchy tint.

"That deal was made years ago," Blaine laughed, and then he hesitated. "Kurt…about that. We're both very busy men. We…we need to focus on our lives."

"I understand that, considering the fact that I _just _broke up with my fiancé."

"So…after today, to, well…" Blaine knew saying this would break him, but he had to, "I think we should get on with our everyday lives. Without each other as distractions."

Kurt nodded stiffly. "I…I agree. But, for today, let's just…let's just pretty much celebrate the fact that we're at least _somewhat _friends again."

Blaine looked at his watch. "Oh, dear, it's getting late. I have a flight tomorrow afternoon."

"_Afternoon_," Kurt echoed. "You have whenever you get back to your hotel room and tomorrow morning to get over whatever hangover you will have. I suggest we head back to my flat, and catch up quite a bit more."

"Kurt…" Blaine said warningly.

"What? This is a civil and completely non-romantic meeting," Kurt sighed. "Come on. I already paid."

He stood up, clutching his bag, nodding his head towards the door.

"_What?_" Blaine snorted.

"I knew you were going to order the fettuccine."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_I AM SO SORRY FOR POSTING THIS CHAPTER SO LATE. AND I'M SORRY IT'S SO SHORT. _The next one will be much, much longer, I promise you. I'll get to writing it. After Deathly Hallows, Part Two tomorrow. After my tears stop, which I think will take a few days. Just kidding. I've been busy with summer work and whatnot, and writer's block has been seriously beating me up. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. There will be angsty!Klaine next chapter. Just a little. And a surprise appearance from someone. And hopefully, some friendly fluff.

I'd like to give a shout-out to my new, amazing friends, Cass, Hayley, Angel, and Cat. And much love to liz-loz for writing me an adorable as fuck Klaine one-shot.

If anyone is interested in my tumblr, it's http : / / littlewizardmusings . tumblr . com. I have links to my tumblr drabbles for Danielle and Blaine on there, and other little things like Glee/HP crossovers and stuff like that.

Reviews would be absolutely lovely. I love you guys! Thank you for all the wonderful support you've given me for this story. It really all does mean a lot. Sorry for the short chapter, once more.

**AND I HAVE, IN FACT, MEMORIZED SANTANA'S "ESCUCHA! YO SOY DE LIMA HEIGHTS ADJACENT, Y YO TENGO ORGULLO! SABE LO QUE PASA EN LIMA HEIGHTS ADJACENT? COSAS. MALAS."**

Love,

Sam

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Glee. I wish I did. It would have been Potterfied and Klainebowfied by now. Okay. Potassium. Goodbye. I don't own the lyrics to Darren Criss' "I Still Think," which is the song quote at the top of the chapter.

AND, I did not write any of the lyrics used in this story. They are property of their artists.

_TOMORROW, I'LL PROBABLY BE POSTING THE LINK TO THE SOUNDTRACK, SO KEEP AN EYE OUT. I WILL POST THE SOUNDTRACK DOWNLOAD LINK ON TUMBLR AND ON MY PROFILE. _


	8. Beautiful Mess

**(PLEASE READ!) VERY IMPORTANT Author's Note: **

Hello, my wonderful and beautiful readers. Sam here. I just wanted to thank each and every one of you for following the story! No, this is not the end. There are about one or two chapters left, depending on the length of chapter nine.

I'd love to read any liveblogs of this chapter, by the way, if anyone wants to. If on Tumblr, please tag it under **littlemusings**, or **INGTH**. If you want me to find something, just tag it as such as well.

Well, the whole point for this long author's note is that I just wanted to clarify something with you all (I know, it's a bit sad when an author has to re-clarify things because they were probably unclear to some readers, please forgive me), and that is: _Kurt was __**not**__ apologizing for not being _(quote) A good little wife (unquote) _and following Blaine around. _The reason why Kurt was apologizing in the first place was that he didn't think of giving he and Blaine a chance when he left. Most of it will be cleared up in this chapter. I saw that the reasons were a bit unclear to some reviewers/readers, so I wanted to clear this up.

Now, I present to you: chapter eight. Sorry for my ineptitude to post each week (two weeks? SAM, YOU ARE BAD!). We moved into a new house recently, and I've been having a horrible case of writer's block, and we just got our internet.

Also, I will have the series of Blaine and Danielle's childhood/adolescence posted up soon! It will be called **My Brother's Keeper**, if you want to keep an eye out for it. I'll continually post updates on my Tumblr. The URL for my Tumblr is on my profile, and also at the end of this chapter.

Now up on Tumblr:

- Danielle's biography (Duke's will be up, soon)  
>- Blaine  Danielle drabbles  
>- Very random Klaine and Niff (NickJeff) drabbles  
>- The <em>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him <em>soundtrack

I really hope you all enjoy this chapter, and cry or laugh, whichever happens, as much as I did when I wrote it.

Love,  
>Sam<p>

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Glee_, or Blaine and Kurt. Just Dani, Duke, and Buh-layney and Dee-Dee's parents, and that sounds a bit wrong. I also do not own the songs that are mentioned or quoted in this story as a whole. They are property of their respective artists and recording companies.

* * *

><p><em>I loved you, so, so much that it hurt<em>

**CHAPTER **eight_  
>Beautiful Mess <em>  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You<span>  
>by littlemusings<p>

All in all, Blaine was rendered speechless.

"You _knew _I was going to order the fettuccine," Blaine said with an accusatory tone. Kurt smiled sheepishly, and nodded towards the door. "Don't play coy with me, Mister Hummel."

"Who's playing coy?" Kurt simpered. Blaine stood up and followed him.

They regarded the owner and the waitress with bright smiles and walked out of the restaurant quickly. The pair headed towards the parking lot, and right towards a bright red Beetle.

"Oh my god, your car is amazing," Blaine said in awe as the pair walked out of the restaurant. "I mean, I saw it earlier, but I didn't think it was yours—"

"Volkswagen Beetle, 2010 model. It's my baby. I bought it last year," Kurt sighed, looking over at the bright-red car they were walking towards. "I miss my Navigator, though."

Blaine shrugged. "I still drive it. Don't worry, it's still in mint condition."

"Thank God. Thanks for taking care of it."

"No problem."

_Blow the candles out; looks like a solo tonight_

Blaine jumped as his phone started ringing; Kurt smirked at the tune. He dug into his cardigan pocket and pulled out his Blackberry, answering it immediately. "Hello?"

"_Bumblebee!"_

Blaine's eyes widened. "Not now, Dan."

"_Um, I'm really sorry for calling you on your date and all, but it's an emergency_—"

The twenty-five year old rolled his eyes and held the receiver. "Kurt, I'm really sorry, it's Danielle." Kurt nodded, laughing, and shooed Blaine away jokingly as he unlocked his car doors with the automatic key.

"What's wrong, Dan?"

"_I think Duke drove back here." _

"Are you _kidding me_?" Blaine spluttered. "What—he was supposed to come back tonight!"

"_He's standing outside of my dorm building by the car. I think the driver's asleep. I don't know, but he's outside. My roommate told me he was asking for me. Oh, shit, what did I do last night?" _she groaned. "_First, I come back from class with the biggest headache in the world, and now I find your manager outside of my fucking dorm building, waiting for me." _

"Um…honestly, Dan, I don't know," Blaine lied, attempting to hide the amusement in his voice. "Go down and talk to him, and tell him to get his ass back to New York as soon as possible, or we're going to miss our flight to Chicago tomorrow afternoon."

"_Fine. I will call you later with details, as you will, too, Buckeye."_

"This is a civil and non-romantic date—I mean, meet-up!" Blaine covered his mouth immediately, and sighed in frustration. "Now you've got my mind all a flutter, kiddo. I'll text Duke. Call me later, okay?"

"_Meeting, my ass! Love you, Bee." _

"Same to you," Blaine heaved, and he hung up his phone, immediately hurrying back to Kurt, opening the door to the shotgun seat.

"Is she alright?"

"Duke."

Kurt's mouth formed a little 'o,' and he chuckled to himself. "Let's make a quick stop before going to my flat."

"Where do you have in mind, good sir?" Blaine asked curiously. Kurt gave him an impish grin.

"I need to go and grab us some drinks at the grocery."

"You, Kurt Hummel, _at the grocery_, a public domain, where there could possibly be paparazzi?" Blaine asked; his voice piqued with interest. "I don't think so."

"It's a really small grocery store near my apartment building. I go there and get baking ingredients whenever…I'm down," Kurt confessed, driving out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "It's on the Upper East Side, where I live. Usually, the people who go there are the rich peoples' maids and whatnot, but I go there since it's pretty discrete and everything I need is there on that little corner. It may be small, but the design of the place itself is wonderful."

"Monochrome color scheme?"

Kurt's eyes narrowed, and a smile crept onto his lips. "Yes, but a wonderfully pristine shade of white dominates."

"And about getting drinks: I thought you vowed never to drink again after Malibu?" Blaine asked again, frowning as he remembered their conversation in the restaurant.

"A shot of Tequila Rose or just a few small drinks never killed anyone," Kurt winked as he turned a few more blocks, and he saw Blaine give him a doubtful look out of the corner of his eye. He immediately turned on the radio, eyes still on the road. A familiar beat began to play on the radio. "Oh, well, look here! I love this song!"

"_Every night, I walked the streets, never dreaming what could happen!"_ Kurt sang along loudly. Blaine rolled his eyes. "Come on! Sing with me! I know you know this song, Blaine."

"No," Blaine laughed. Kurt gave him an incredulous look, then turned back to face the road.

"You're a party pooper."

"Whatever, Kurt. I am the party man."

"Indeed, you are. Come on! Give it a try. We haven't sung together in years. Wow…years."

"Fine. Continue," Blaine sighed. Kurt bobbed his head to the beat of the song.

"_I'll wear that dress, if you wear that tie, and baby, we'll dance through the night…_" Kurt hummed. "_…'Cause no one's got what we've got goin'._"

"_Happiness never held onto me, until you helped me see that together we're just better off_," Blaine continued sheepishly. Kurt immediately stopped singing, and changed the radio station.

"Sorry. That was too much," he mumbled. Blaine shrugged and laughed nervously.

"No, no, I'm sorry. You're right, I _am _being a party pooper," he grumbled, leaning back onto the plush leather seat. "It's just that…here we go again, with the flirty duets."

Kurt blushed. "That…that wasn't my intention," he said in an airy, nervous tone as he turned another corner. There was another echoing silence in the small car, and Blaine cleared his throat and sat up in his seat again. Kurt looked at him nervously and back to the road. "Damn this traffic," he muttered as he came to the main road. A vast multitude of cars were beeping loudly, bumper-to-bumper. Kurt muttered a few more expletives as he poked his head out of his window. An accident had happened at an intersection up ahead.

Kurt grumbled to himself and rolled his window back up; leaning in his chair, dejected.

"Good ol' New York traffic," Blaine said idly, smiling weakly. Kurt returned the smile, arms tightly folded.

"There's been a small accident. So why did Dani call earlier?"

"Apparently, Duke is outside of her dorm building when he's supposed to be back at the Palace right about now," Blaine sighed. "Did I tell you what happened while she was drunk?"

"Under what drunken stereotype did she fall under?"

"'Needy girl' drunk," Blaine muttered. "And 'Insane Drunk.'"

"Let me guess. She kissed Duke."

"Correct, and to be honest, I think she's liked him since she was _seventeen_. About four years," Blaine rolled his eyes. "I think he's beginning to reciprocate those feelings."

"I _knew _it. Did you know my assistant likes him?"

"Jamie Lewis?"

"Yes," Kurt sniffed. "I love Jamie with all my heart. She's a sweetheart. I can tell when she's pissed, and despite her concern for me this past afternoon, she sounded a bit strained. Voice sounded hoarse from crying a little bit."

"Poor girl."

"Thing is, she broke up with a guy last summer. Cheater," Kurt sighed. "She may seem a tad bit uptight out of the studio, but she's a good person."

"Duke thought she was very pretty."

"When she mentioned Duke, she referred to him as _Anderson's manager_."

Blaine snorted. "_Anderson's manager. _Interesting."

"I knew immediately that she liked Duke. I _know _Duke, too, Blaine. During our freshman year and his senior year in college, he always had girls hanging off of him. Wasn't surprised Jamie liked him. He _is _quite good-looking."

"Honestly, he's not my type, and he's straight," Blaine laughed. "And about women—not recently," Blaine said pointedly, adamant. "He's been working his ass off daily."

"Not my type either," Kurt winked.

"Changing the topic: did your parents call you at all this morning?" Blaine asked. Kurt nodded.

"My dad yelled at me for the first time in years for not 'controlling the situation,' but then…when I told him about me and Anthony breaking up, he seemed to…not take it as hard as I did. It was the same with Carole."

"Why do you think that?"

"He and Anthony weren't always friends."

"I see," Blaine mused, lips tightened. "How about Finn?"

"He and Anthony always hated each other."

"What happened?" Blaine asked, attempting to hide the amusement in his voice.

Kurt exhaled loudly. "Arguments and stuff. Finn didn't really like him at first sight, and then Anthony picked a fight, and then it became a flurry of fists and expletives—oh, hey! The traffic's gone!"

"Thank god," Blaine said in relief. "And you sure do have one awesome brother."

"And you have an equally awesome sister."

Kurt revved his engine along with the other cars on the road, and they made their way down the streets of New York towards the Upper East Side.

* * *

><p><strong>Toronto, Ontario, Canada  Ryerson University **

Danielle reluctantly made her way down the stairs of her dorm building, her heart thumping wildly. _What did I do? Why the _fuck _is he still here? _The same two questions kept on running through her head, and she wove her way through a small sea of students already making their way to bed. Her head was still throbbing slightly, and her steps were wobbly. _Focus, Danielle Marie. Focus. Look sober. Well, you are sober. Just stand straighter, you little hipster bitch. _She adjusted the sleeve of her baseball shirt (she changed out of the one she wore to come back to Toronto) and finally made her way to the front door of the dorm building.

"Anderson!" a voice called out. She ignored it and kept on walking, her headache getting slightly worse.

As she opened the door, however, someone from behind ran towards her and knocked her down.

_Again! Fuck this shit! _She stood up immediately, brushing her shirt off. "Damn it! Again with the knocking down! I am not that fucking short! You can see me! I am visible! 5'3" is not that damn short!" Danielle said a few more 'words' and looked up at the person who knocked her down, and folded her arms.

A tall, green-eyed, dark-haired boy stood behind her sheepishly, ruffling his shaggy hair. "Sorry, Anderson."

"Bobby," she said, trying to control the anger in her voice, "Bobby. Robert Green. Next time you do not watch where you are going, you will end up in a crack house and the crack heads will sell your body for drugs. I do not care if we are in the same writing class: I swear I will throw you into a crack house. Or maybe a furnace. Whatever works."

"I…I just wanted to ask you something," the boy said, biting his lip. She looked at him, eyebrows raised, arms folded impatiently. "Dani Anderson, do you want to go to din—"

"Dani!" another voice called out. Danielle twirled around and her face flushed as Duke ran up to the door, still in his suit, looking incredibly tired. The tall boy, Bobby Green, sighed and walked away, crestfallen. Danielle gave him an irritated, yet apologetic glance, as she ran out to meet up with Duke before he set foot in the dormitory building.

They walked along the path outside the dormitory together.

"Why the _fucking fuck _are you still here? My brother's flight for Chicago is tomorrow, and you're supposed to be with him!" she said angrily. Duke cleared his throat and pursed his lips guiltily. "Don't give me that gassy baby look, Desmond Jude Whitely!"

"Shhh! Don't say my name so loudly!" Duke exclaimed, covering her mouth quickly. She pushed his hand away. "I don't even look like a fucking 'Desmond'!"

"Your mother named you that, so you have no excuses, and I don't give a flying fuck if we are friends. I have a rape whistle, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Danielle, you're legal and we're friends," Duke said bluntly, frowning, and stopping in his tracks. Danielle turned around to him and gave him a look of utter irritancy.

"Won't stop me!" she said threateningly, reaching into her pockets. Duke gave her a panicked look and sighed exasperatedly.

"I didn't want to, um, leave, without telling you what happened last night."

There was a very pregnant pause.

She stared at him blankly, blinking. "Did we…?"

"NO!" Duke said loudly and defensively. She backed up a little.

"Holy fuck, was I that drunk?"

"No! We didn't do any of that!" Duke exclaimed. "Ew—I mean, ugh, don't think that," he groaned.

"What do you mean, 'ew'?" she said, taken aback. "I'm not gross!"

_You're not_, Duke thought. "Whatever. I just wanted to say that last night, when you were incredibly intoxicated…"

"Don't remind me."

"Fine. You don't want to know what happened? I'm out, bitch," he said quickly, turning on his heel and hurrying straight back to the limousine parked in the dormitory building's driveway. Danielle ran after him and pulled at his sleeve angrily, pulling him to face her.

_Damn it, oh fuck, _he thought, panicking wildly.

"You did not just drive back here to deny me gossip, Desmond Jude Whitely."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Desmond Jude."

"Stop, Dani."

"Desmo-o-o-nd Ju-Ju-Jude," she sang loudly. Duke stared at her.

"You clearly don't have your brother's pipes, therefore I am not dealing with you," he said, turning around again on a whim. She ran in front of him, arms folded.

"Yes, you are. When you turned your ass around and left my brother in New York, where he's probably being a hypocrite and getting wasted with Kurt, it became your time to deal with me," she said menacingly. "And I know I can't sing as well as Blaine. So, what the hell happened last night? Obviously, we didn't have…have…"

"Sex, no we didn't," Duke said bluntly, blushing fiercely.

"Oh, thank god," she sighed in relief, running a hand through her hair. "Then, what? Did I streak with you around the Palace lobby?"

"YoukissedmeandIkissedyouback," Duke said quickly, blushing an even deeper shade of red. Danielle looked at him with apprehension.

"What? I don't understand 'blushing bride tones'. Did we drive to Vegas and get hitched?" she said, panicked.

"As your mom would say, _'hay naku!'_" he said with a terrible Filipino accent. Dani had to hide her laughter. "We wouldn't have had time for that, stupid!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air, irritated.

"Point made."

Duke inhaled deeply.

"We made out with each other."

Danielle stared at him, and her face flushed pink. _I what? I WHAT?_ "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh,'" Duke said quietly. "In the back of the limo." _Shit. Here comes the pain. _

"Oh god."

Danielle covered her mouth, her sleeve covering her hand. "I made out with you."

"And I kissed you back."

_Duke. Oh my god, I finally kissed Duke. I kissed Duke Whitely. Desmond Jude Fucking Whitely. Duke. Oh my god._ _And I didn't remember? Fuck my life. _

"That's all you came here for?" she said indignantly, clearing her throat nervously. Duke nodded.

"Pretty much."

"Does…Does Blaine know?"

"Yeah."

"And he didn't tell me. That bitch," she snapped, reaching into her pockets for her phone. Unfortunately, she had left it back in her dormitory. Cursing, she looked at him. "I fucking kissed you."

"And…"

"What 'and'? What else did I do or say? Because—because—because none of that shit is ever real, okay? I was—I was _drunk!_"

"You…uh, told me you loved me."

Danielle stared at him blankly.

_Oh god, the blank Anderson Stare again, _Duke sighed in his mind. The two stared at each other.

"I didn't mean it," she said quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah…" Duke said, his voice trailing off. "…Yeah, you probably didn't mean it."

_Oh my god I said it when I was drunk. Stupid, you are stupid, Dani! What horrible timing! He might think you're a tequila slut! Or maybe he already does!_

"I…I guess I don't speak the truth when I'm drunk," she stuttered. Duke pursed his lips once more and nodded curtly.

"I…I'm going to go now," he said hesitantly. _I guess it's been a long time coming, but think I really do love you back. _"I…I just didn't want to not see you again for a while and have you not know about what went down last night."

"Duke," she said, her voice becoming gentler. She put a hand on his arm. _No. Yes. No. Oh, come on, Danielle. He's just a few years older than you, very few years, and he's very, very handsome and cute and holy crap but—no. Danielle Marie Anderson, you will not tell this man anything. You—No. Yes. Oooh, maybe. Nah, no. _

"Yeah?" he asked, standing straighter.

"…Thanks for telling me," she said softly. She let go of his arm and grumbled, "I'm a tequila slut now, aren't I?"

"No, I wouldn't say '_slut_,'" Duke said off-handedly. She hit him gently and sat down on the pavement. He sat down next to her. "I'd call you a tequila binger. Never a 'tequila slut.'"

"Sorry for kissing you."

"Sorry for kissing you back."

They looked at each other for a brief moment and then looked away.

"You should go back to New York. My brother's going to need you in the morning," she sighed. "Thanks again." _Fuck you, Dani. Fuck you for being stupid. _

"You're quite welcome," Duke said. "And I will. I'm giving the driver ample time to relax."

Danielle looked at him. "Do you think Blaine is going to be okay?"

"First time I haven't heard you call him 'Bee' in a while," Duke smiled. "I hope so."

"Yeah. I think so, too. And I haven't called him by his proper name in forever, really," she confessed. "Got used to calling him 'Bee' because I had a minor speech problem when I was a kid. That's why I ended up nicknaming him 'Bee'."

"He told me that story before."

"Yeah. Mom told me I was trying to say 'Blaine,' but it kept on coming out like 'Been.' 'Been,'" she laughed. "I got tired of saying the 'n' so I dropped it and called him 'Bee'. Then it became 'Bumblebee,' and then 'Buckeye' when he started getting into football."

"You really love your brother, do you?" Duke asked gently. Danielle nodded.

"He's the only one I've got," she said quietly. "Mom's always following dad around. She loves us, I know, but she's always so busy trying to make dad happy. And dad, don't get me started on dad," she said darkly. "He wasn't always so nice. Hit Blaine once when we were in high school, and he had to stay at Kurt's for the night. I was somewhat his little protector our whole lives. Pushed his bullies' siblings into trashcans and sandboxes when their older siblings hurt Bee. I was really happy when he found Kurt, you know. That's why I pressed for him to try singing at the party, too."

Duke looked at her softly.

"Same reason for me, except I didn't push kids into sandboxes. I think it was a good thing that he sang at the party," he shrugged.

"With Kurt, he seemed happier. Brighter. Smiled more."

"Which makes me hope that tonight they at least become friends again."

Silence.

"Last night was insane."

"Yeah."

"Some people were pegging me for information, but I threatened to mace them."

"Please, don't spread anything about the party."

"You mock me, sir. I would never spread gossip about Blaine James Anderson and Kurt Elizabeth Hummel," Danielle said with fake anger. The two laughed, and Duke looked at his watch.

"Got to go if I want to get back to New York in time to pack my shit and get going to Chicago, and take care of your brother."

"Thanks, Duke," she said as he stood up. He held his hand out, and she took it and he helped her up immediately.

"Well…goodbye for now, Danielle Anderson."

"Hasta la vista, Desmond Whitely," she sniffed. "Thank you. Just…thanks for watching my brother for me, and for, um, breaking my nose..."

Duke nodded, gulping, and turned around as he began to walk towards the limo again. "I'm sorry about your nose again," he called out.

"It's alright," she called back in an airy, high-pitched voice.

_Girl, it is now or never._

"Duke!" Danielle shouted. He turned around and saw her running towards him, and that was when she pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was gentler this time; unlike the rough, sloppy one she gave him last night.

To Duke, it felt more organic, more natural.

When they broke apart, she cleared her throat.

"Shoo," she said croakily, waving her hand at him. Duke nodded, blushing furiously, and hurried towards the car. "Wait—Duke!"

"Yeah?"

"I thought you liked that Jamie chick."

"I met her yesterday. I've known _you_ for years," he said with a small smile, and then he got into the car. He left the door open just a little bit and added sheepishly but confidently, "She may be quite good-looking, but she's not an Anderson."

With that, the door closed and the limo drove away.

_Oh, you crazy son of a bitch_, Danielle thought to herself, and hurried back to her dorm building. _Took you long enough._

* * *

><p>They finally arrived at Kurt's apartment building, laden with grocery bags. The bellboy looked slightly taken aback when he saw Blaine with Kurt, but opened the door and elevator for them anyway.<p>

"Don't mind him," Kurt whispered as they entered the elevator. Blaine smirked. The elevator door shut and the men put their grocery bags down on the elevator floor, sighing in relief as they were rid of their burdens.

"What a fancy building," Blaine whistled.

"Blaine, we're in the elevator," Kurt said amusedly. "You haven't seen _fancy _until you've been deeper into the Upper East Side."

"Might check it out next time I come back to New York."

_Come back. Don't leave, _Kurt thought desperately. "You should."

"This elevator really is nice," Blaine whistled.

"Blaine, you've seen an elevator before. Stop fawning over it," Kurt laughed, unable to contain himself. "You grew up richer than me."

"It's marble, though, Kurt, _marble. _This damn elevator is made of black marble," Blaine said, nodding in approval.

"Are you sure they didn't slip something into your drink at Savore?"

"Positive," Blaine said obdurately, nodding curtly. "What floor are you on?"

"Fifteenth," Kurt answered, looking up at the floor ticker. They were still on the sixth floor. "I…I told Anthony I would have preferred the fifth floor or something, because he wanted the thirtieth floor or the twentieth floor, but we both agreed in the end that the fifteenth floor was alright. It has a nice view of the city in the morning, especially the sunrise."

Blaine asked reluctantly, "When did you…and Anthony…move into this building?"

"A year and three months ago," Kurt sighed. "When Pavarotti and his gallery were becoming more well-known."

"Clever name for your clothing company," Blaine winked.

Eleventh floor.

"It was a tribute to my warbler, okay?" Kurt said indifferently. "Pavarotti deserves immortality. Oh, thank god, we're almost there. I'll probably move out of…move out of here and get a conveniently placed condo on a lower floor. Might find a place that's less expensive than this one now that I've got to pay the rent on my own."

Blaine nodded understandingly.

"Finally!" Kurt exclaimed as the elevator dinged when they reached the fifteenth floor. The two men piled out and walked down the white, carpeted hallway.

"Looks smaller than it does on the outside," Blaine nodded in approval.

Kurt quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Wait until you get into the actual apartment."

They arrived in front of a tall, pristine white door emblazoned with the number _1535_. Kurt put down his grocery bags and rummaged through his pockets for his keys, and opened the door. "May not be monochrome, but it was home."

Blaine took a note of the '_was_' and stepped into the condominium. As Kurt flicked on the lights, Blaine stared in awe at the place, but he knew immediately, that Kurt hadn't put his heart into the place, for there was a strange mix of colors everywhere in the condominium—a strange mix of random secondary colors. _Blaine James Anderson, your gay is showing_, he thought to himself, and he shook it off and followed Kurt into a separate hallway and into the pristinely kept kitchen. They placed their grocery bags on the marble counter and Kurt put his hands on it, sighing.

"Welcome to my humble abode."

Blaine bobbed his head in approval. "It's quite nice, but…"

Kurt gave him a withering look. "The colors. Yes, the colors. I had a small spat with Anthony about the colors before. I wanted to give the living room a lot of blue and white, and the dining room a black and white feel with red accents. He wanted just a random assembly of colors."

"You two had quite a few spats, huh?"

"It wasn't often. Probably once a year or every few months. Recently, though, we had arguments every other day…" his voice trailed off. Blaine gave him a sympathetic look. "Go and have a seat; I'll mix us some drinks and then we'll keep talking from there," he said quickly gesturing towards the living room door. Blaine nodded and complied, walking through the hallway, opening the door to the living room once more.

Blaine sat down on the maroon leather couch and looked around. No, none of the living room or anything really, in the main part of the house apart from the kitchen seemed to be Kurt-designed. He was appalled. Looking around, he stood up once more and walked around, and began to question his true intentions of coming to Kurt's condominium.

Kurt hadn't given them a chance three years ago, so why was he, Blaine, with him again, eating dinner and sharing a few drinks? Why did he not just go back to the Palace after their dinner in SoHo? Why did he even agree to meet Kurt in the first place, when he knew Kurt was freshly single? _Literally _newly single?

_Wow, Blaine, you've really gotten yourself into a terrible mess. First, you try to hold his hands in an Italian restaurant. Second, you go grocery shopping with him, like old times, and you two are acting like a married couple. Bullshit, man, total bullshit. _

He still loved Kurt: that was obvious. But, he was scared of getting hurt again, and scared of—despite his shared phrase with Duke, 'don't give a shit'—what the public might think of him. The public _knew _he and Kurt had dated. The public _now _knew that it was _because _of him that Anthony and Kurt had broken up and called off their engagement. So what was he now? He wouldn't just be _the famous Blaine Anderson, Grammy Award Winner. _He would be _Blaine Anderson: Grammy-Award Winning, A-Plus Cheating Partner_. That was probably what the general public assumed now the news of the happenings the night before came to light. Or, they thought otherwise—that Kurt was the _A-Plus Cheating Partner_.

But Blaine knew better. He knew that these little rumors would flit away one day—maybe in a manner of weeks, if something 'bigger' in the entertainment world happened. So why was he still scared of falling back in love with the _newly single Kurt Hummel _and dating him?

Again, the memories came back and flooded into his head.

_There's no need to talk. I've grown up. I'm not that baby penguin, the boy you fell in love with five years ago. That's nice, Blaine. I want you to have a good life, okay? You don't need me here. I've got to keep my options open. I'm going to New York, Blaine, and you know that we're not good at long distance relationships. I think that this whole relationship is dragging my dreams and chances down. My feelings have been fading. I don't love you anymore._

Kurt admitted that all of the things he said were because of his jealousy and his fear of them breaking up if they had kept their relationship going on. Blaine, however, knew that he had meant most of the words he said. _We're not good at long distance relationships. _

The two of them had gone to UCLA together in the first place because Blaine hadn't been accepted at NYU because he lacked a certain class or a certain credit to get accepted—he didn't remember anymore. Kurt, he knew, desperately wanted to go to New York, but on a whim decided to go to California with Blaine since UCLA had his courses…and had Blaine. But Blaine knew that Kurt would one day crack from staying in California for too long, especially since the state didn't have the resources he needed to jump-start his careers in both Broadway, obviously, and fashion. And so Kurt did.

They _really_ weren't good at long distance relationships, even though they hadn't really tried. There was another instance, when they were in high school, when there was an Anderson moving scare: his father had a job offer in Washington D.C. in the middle of Blaine's senior year and Danielle's eighth grade year. He and Kurt nearly broke up then, too. In the end, obviously, Mr. Anderson had turned down the job offer.

What _if _they had gotten back together? With Blaine now touring the country, and Kurt living in New York, they'd have to _start _a long-distance relationship.

What if Kurt found someone else?

What if _he, _Blaine, found someone else while on tour? He knew it wasn't going to happen, but what were the odds? Plus, they would both be incredibly busy with their careers, and the media would be all over them, especially since Kurt had broken up with Anthony.

Anthony Marksman. Blaine felt bitter every time he heard the man's name, yet—he felt sorry for the painter at the same time.

And Kurt! Kurt still seemed to like him back, but he knew Kurt. He longed for companionship. Inside, deep inside, he longed for companionship. Now free of Anthony, he would feel alone, as he said—_more alone_. With Anthony, he had been _less alone_. At least that was what Blaine gathered from their relationship. How much _more _alone would Kurt feel if he were dating Blaine while he was touring? Blaine thought of it: they'd have telephones, they'd have Skype, and they'd have the Internet overall.

But it wasn't the same.

He felt like a petty teenager.

These thoughts and more running through his mind, Blaine walked down another hallway. He looked around to see if Kurt was done mixing the drinks. Clearly, he wasn't, so Blaine continued his self-tour of Kurt's humble abode. He looked up and saw stairs that led to a loft with doors. _Bedrooms_, he thought, feeling as if a pin fell into his stomach. _His and Anthony's room is up there, somewhere._ He shook off the thoughts and stayed on the first level of the condo just in case Kurt came out of the kitchen. Blaine turned a left and found himself at a dead end, facing a large and smooth, marble-white door. Curious, he put his hand on the handle and opened the door to reveal a studio.

It was Kurt's—and that was obvious. The couches, together in a pristine pattern of black and white, were gathered around a glass white coffee table (the only things on the table being the latest issue of _Vogue_: his issue, and a small set of iPod speakers), and in another corner was a large, white table with papers, sketchpads and differently-colored cloths strewn all over the tabletop. There were two mannequins: one, a male mannequin, and the other, a female one, wearing two outfits with very familiar color schemes: Dalton's red and blue color scheme.

Around the neck of the mannequins, there were two signs: _not to be produced_.

Blaine bit his lip and continued to look around the personal studio. He walked over to a back table, where there were several black photo frames. He saw photos of Kurt and his father, Kurt and his mother, Kurt and Carole, Kurt and Finn, Kurt and Mercedes, and another photo of Kurt, Rachel, Santana, Brittany, and Mercedes, at what he assumed was Brittany and Santana's wedding. Another frame held a picture of him and Anthony. Blaine picked it up and stared at it. He saw a fleck of blue at the corner of the frame, and furrowing his eyebrows, he picked at the back of the frame and took out another photo that was lodged behind the picture of Kurt and Anthony.

It was a small photo strip of him and Blaine back in high school. They had found a photo booth in one of Lima's department stores, and decided to take pictures together for fun. In the first photo on the strip, Kurt was wearing one of Blaine's old Dalton sweaters, and had his arms around Blaine's neck and his lips pressed to Blaine's cheek.

The second photo had the both of them making silly faces to the camera; Kurt made a very airy, model-like glance at the camera, while Blaine decided to make kissy faces at the camera.

The third photo showed the two of them, Blaine's head on Kurt's shoulder. It was a simple photo.

The fourth photo had the two of them, lips locked into a kiss.

* * *

><p><strong>Lima, Ohio <strong>/ _seven years previously _

"_Oh my god, we are insane," Kurt laughed loudly as they sat, squished together in the tiny photo booth. "What are we going to do for the third photo?" _

_Blaine panicked, thinking of what to do. "Look at me," he said. Kurt turned to face him, eyebrows quirked. Blaine immediately pressed his lips to Kurt's softly, and they kissed as the photo booth counted down and snapped the photo. _

_They separated immediately and laughed. _

* * *

><p>Blaine choked back a cry and stuffed the photo back in the frame. He slammed the frame down—gently, so that Kurt wouldn't hear, and he looked around at Kurt's studio.<p>

Another thing he noticed was the program from his Friday night concert on one of the couches.

Wiping his eyes immediately, he regained his composure and hurried out of the studio, closing the door gently. Luckily, as he re-entered the living room, Kurt already opened the kitchen door, pushing through a small cart with various drinks. "Bon appétit."

"Thanks!" Blaine gave him a weak smile and immediately picked up a shot, and drank it quickly.

"You…you alright, Blaine?" Kurt asked nervously as they sat down with their shots. Blaine nodded, shrugging.

"Perfectly fine. Why?" he asked quickly. Kurt shrugged as well and downed his first shot, his face wrinkling. "Are you sure you've drunk lately?"

"Positive. I guess I'm not the best at mixing."

Blaine laughed. "Should have asked me for help. I learned from experts," he said with faux enthusiasm.

"If you call Duke an expert at anything, then Barbra Streisand is a novice at everything she does," Kurt shuddered. "I'd hate to think of the crazy concoctions he'd come up with."

"This is really good, actually," Blaine said appreciatively, pouring himself another shot quickly.

Kurt's eyes widened. "Slow down, cowboy!" he laughed nervously.

Blaine stopped pouring and sat back down, exasperated. "Sorry. I'm…I'm just really tired."

"Ugh, I knew I shouldn't have brought you here," Kurt said in a high, panicky voice.

"No, no," Blaine said quickly. _No, you shouldn't have. You're making it harder for me to leave. _"It's fine. It's all fine."

"I was…was just guessing that if you wanted to get a drink or two, it's best we partake in these affairs here at my house so that we don't have to deal with driving back from the restaurant…"

"Affairs," Blaine snorted, drinking his shot quickly again.

"Sorry, wrong word," Kurt muttered, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Kurt, may I ask you a very simple question?" Blaine asked suddenly, staring at the floor. Kurt turned around to face him anxiously. Blaine looked up, and their eyes met: hazel and blue-green. "Please don't be offended, but…did you really love Anthony, and do you, still?"

Kurt stared at him blankly. "Why are you asking me this?" he said, rubbing his temples warily.

"I know I don't need to know anything about your love life anymore—"

"You were a _part _of my love life before, Blaine—a very important part of my so-called 'love life,' so honestly—I really think you do have a right to know," Kurt confessed in a quiet voice. "I did love him. I really did. But I wasn't…I wasn't _in love _with him, per se, as I figured out…after he asked me to marry him."

"_After_?" Blaine said in disbelief, his mouth hanging agape.

Kurt gave him a sheepish look and frowned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm a really horrible and misguided person, Blaine. You should know that by now." He downed his shot. "I've been a working mess. When he asked me to marry him, we were at another Italian restaurant around here somewhere. He ordered me spaghetti and he got whatever plate he got—I believe it was pesto. He got down on one knee, after having the pianist at the restaurant play a very beautiful Chopin tune, and asked me to marry him. I didn't know what to say. Before I knew it, I said 'yes.'"

"Chopin. Very classy," Blaine mumbled as he continued to drink.

"After that…I don't know what happened to me. I started working more. He pointed out that I didn't stop fucking working. I denied little dates. I came home late. My designs were beginning to reflect my workaholic-like thoughts and how planning a wedding would stress me out."

_The red and blue blazer. The red and blue dress,_ Blaine thought, a lump gathering in his throat.

"So, we started fighting. And we kept fighting, and you saw what happened last night, and when we got home, he threw down his engagement ring and walked out. We yelled at each other. We…we started getting worse on Friday…when I went to your concert."

"I saw you," Blaine said, his whole entire body feeling numb. "You were with Jamie. A few rows…from the front."

"She asked me to go with her."

Blaine stared at him. "Why did you go?"

"I went on a whim."

"I think the tequila will say this for me very soon, but half of those songs—"

"—Were about me, as narcissistic as that sounds," Kurt said, looking down at the floor. "I know you and what you write about."

"Observant," Blaine grumbled as he drank again. "Kurt, do you even know what the hell you're doing with your life? First, you leave without explaining, second, you date someone and agree to marry them, but you're not _in love _with them, and the night after you break up with them, you ask me to have dinner with you."

"I—" Kurt muttered, taken aback.

Kurt looked at him, shaking, and poured himself another drink. "Blaine, I honestly don't know what I'm doing with myself. I look like such a big shot designer with all of these contacts and a Broadway contract with one of the best musicals of all time, but I don't know what I'm doing. I thought by settling down here in my dream city with everything around me exactly the way I want it to be, I would…I would be whole. But I'm not. I was stupid. Everything—" he drank his shot and poured himself another one "—is going to shit. It all has been."

Blaine's mind began to feel woozy, and he was slowly beginning to succumb to the alcohol in his system. "You think you had it bad?" He stood up shakily and drank his shot quickly, his face scrunching together. He pointed at Kurt with his shot glass hand. "Yeah, I sound so fucking selfish, pardon my tequila, but when you left me, without giving a proper reason or explaining yourself three years ago, I honestly couldn't function. I was going to fly to New York to see you, but all of the flights were booked and I didn't have the money, and that made me feel worse. I was so ready. I was going to skip my damn recording just to go to your audition but you were pissed at me, so I didn't go.

"I'm an idiot, aren't I? We're both idiots, aren't we?" he laughed loudly. "We both don't know what the hell we're doing!"

"Blaine, it's the alcohol talking," Kurt whispered, even though he knew it was otherwise.

"I really loved you. We had it going. I was going to tell you we were going to be in New York together by the next year, but you rushed it and left!" Blaine guffawed. "Did you know I didn't talk to people for days, and Duke thought I drank myself sick? Dani had to fly to Los Angeles to stay with me for a few days. It's really pathetic, you know, when a grown man's little sister has to fly to him to make him feel better. I resorted to talking to my fans on chat rooms online, and they were pretty much my only comforts besides my sister and my manager. My dad was really annoyed with me, too, and you know how he is. He fucking told me 'I told you so.' My mom was the one who sent Danielle to me. You know what? That was when everything started going to shit for me, Grammy or no Grammy; tour or no fucking tour!"

Blaine collapsed to his knees, hugging himself as he started to cry.

Kurt stared at him, his eyes glossing over. He knew Blaine wouldn't have said this if he were sober. He forgot that Blaine had a low tolerance for drinks. He regretted buying the alcohol, and was about ready to throw it all outside the window. Kurt himself was feeling tipsy as well, but he still managed to keep his bearing.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said hoarsely. He got on his knees and put his hands on Blaine's shoulders. "Blaine. Look at me. Blaine."

"It's the alcohol, I'm sorry, it's the alcohol, Kurt, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, hugging Kurt tightly. Kurt was shocked, but he managed to pat Blaine's back gently.

"Shhh, Blaine, shhh," Kurt said in a croaky voice as he let his tears spill over his cheeks. "Blaine, I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry."

"My dad thinks I'm an idiot and a family mockery, and I bet my mom secretly thinks I'm a failure, my little sister's all the way in Canada, the media's always up my ass about things, and—fuck it all!" Blaine exclaimed, separating from Kurt, running his hands through his hair as he leaned onto the couch for support. Kurt stood up immediately, even though he himself felt woozy, and held out his hand to Blaine. Blaine, whose sobs were slowly subsiding, stared at his hand blankly. Kurt bent down and took Blaine's hand himself, and pulled him up gently.

"And you still have our photo strips in a hidden frame," Blaine said hoarsely. "Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Kurt? Why the fuck did you do this to yourself?"

"Come with me," Kurt said firmly, and then he pulled Blaine down the hallway, past the stairs and the loft, and into his studio. He sat Blaine down on one of the white couches and pulled out his iPhone, plugging it into his speakers. He quickly scrolled down his lists, and began to play a song with a soft string and guitar introduction.

Blaine stared at Kurt as he held out his hand again. He took it shakily, and they began to dance.

"Jason Mraz," Blaine whispered. "_Beautiful Mess_," he said, once the first verse began.

"Blaine," Kurt began shakily, "You're not going to remember this in the morning. I already know this."

"I love you," Blaine blurted. "I love you, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel."

Kurt stared at him. _He's drunk, Kurt. He's drunk. _"It's too soon for me to be saying the same thing to you."

The two stared at each other as they danced, and their foreheads touched gently.

"I don't care," Blaine breathed. Kurt could smell the strawberry vodka on his breath, but he ignored it, and savored this moment.

It might be the last time he would get to do this.

Blaine spun him around gently, and Kurt tried to bite back the tears that were threatening to fall once more.

Blaine closed his eyes.

"Why…why did you keep those photos?" he said, his voice beginning to slur slightly.

"Because…" Kurt began, but his voice trailed off. "Because I l…Because I love you. Still. It took me a while to realize it again, and you won't remember this in the morning, but…but I do."

"Shut up," Blaine responded blearily. He opened his eyes and looked up at Kurt. "I love you, too," he whispered, and he put his lips to Kurt's.

As before, their kiss was gentle. Forward and drunken, but very gentle. Their lips melded together perfectly, and moved with a harmony that they were both familiar with. Blaine put a hand to Kurt's cheek, and Kurt tightened his grip on Blaine's waist, tears falling down his face.

After what seemed like forever, they separated and Blaine looked intently at Kurt. "You're crying," he said tiredly, his body swaying slightly. "I was earlier, too, huh?"

"You need to get some sleep," Kurt said quickly, turning him around, leading him by the shoulders to the couch bed in the corner of the studio. Blaine lay down on it, his head hurting, and he stared at Kurt fixedly, a tear falling down his face as his eyes fluttered closed. Kurt sat next to him, running his hand through Blaine's curly hair. He choked back a sob, and blinked back tears, putting his feet on the bed, leaning his back on the arm of the chair. He closed his eyes and kept a protective hand on Blaine's head.

And within minutes, he found himself falling asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Two Hours Later<strong>

Anthony walked down the hallway of his and Kurt's—well, what _used _to be his and Kurt's—condominium, two large duffel bags in hand. He headed up to the loft and into their—what _used _to be their—bedroom, and wasn't surprised that Kurt wasn't there yet. _Probably at the studio. _He walked over to the closet and began stuffing as many of his clothes as he could into his bag, and as many of his belongings. He stared at the photo of the two of them on the nightstand and tore his eyes away from it immediately.

_Just…just let him be happy_, Anthony thought to himself, blinking back tears as he finished packing his things. He zipped his bags shut and closed the closet doors quietly, and walked out of the room.

He heard soft music playing from the hallway leading to Kurt's studio, and dropped his bags by the stairs and went to the studio to investigate.

He opened the door just a little bit, and saw Kurt lying down on his couch bed, fully clothed, his arms wrapped around Blaine Anderson.

_I knew it,_ he thought, his heart breaking slowly. He closed the door again, and hurried to his bags, and dashed out of the condominium as soon as possible.

_Just let him be happy. _

* * *

><p><strong>Toronto, Ontario, Canada  Ryerson University **

_Good night, Dan. Miss you already, bitch. Stay sober 4 me & your bro, alright? – Duke_

Danielle smiled to herself and pulled her blankets closer to herself as she texted him back. She put her phone on her nightstand and shut the lamp off on her side of the dormitory, and went to bed.

* * *

><p><strong>Somewhere Between Canada and New York <strong>

Duke shut off his cell phone and lay down on the back of the limo, smiling to himself.

_Good night to you too, Desmond. Miss you, too. Oh, and don't use numbers when you text me. I like impeccably beautiful grammar. Stay a dick for me, will you? – Dani _

* * *

><p><strong>the next morning  upper east side  
>New York City, New York <strong>

When he woke up, Blaine was gone.

Kurt found this out when he shifted onto the couch bed, and found himself taking up all of the space on the small twin-sized bed. He sat up immediately, and ran to the living room.

Blaine was gone.

There was nothing but a plate of sunny-side up eggs, bacon, pancakes, a bottle of syrup, and a letter on the kitchen counter.

_Dear Kurt,_

_Well…I guess it's time for us to get on with our every day lives. _

_Thank you for everything._

_I'll miss you, like I do every day. But you know, this is truly for the best—you and I both know it. _

_Sorry, I'm a horrible cook. I hope you enjoy the breakfast I made for you, because it's the least I can do for you since you let me stay over. _

_Remind me not to drink so much next time, if there is a next time. My mind is fuzzy and it's pretty hard to write all of this right now because it is seven in the morning and my hand is a tad bit wobbly. _

_Again, Kurt, it was nice seeing you again. 'Nice,' of course is an understatement, but I digress. _

_Thank you for everything. _

_Your…friend,  
>Blaine <em>

Kurt looked at the kitchen clock.

It was noon.

His grip tightened on the counter edges, and he began to cry once more.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

Mergh. I want to cry.

Anyway.

AND, HAHAHA. DUKE'S ACTUAL NAME. ME GUSTA. HAHAHHAA.

HE DOESN'T SEEM LIKE A 'DESMOND,' EITHER. I MEAN, WHAT WAS HIS MOTHER THINKING?

He got the "Duke" from the latter half of his middle name, "Jude," and used the "D" from "Desmond". He didn't want to have "Dude" as his nickname, and as a kid, he was into the _Dukes of Hazzard_, so he picked "Duke" as his beloved nickname/stage name. Because he knew it was awesome-sounding.

The soundtrack is now up on MediaFire. Links to download are on my Author's Profile and my Tumblr: littlewizardmusings (dot) tumblr (dot) com. No spaces.

**Please review!** Reviews are beautiful things and will be very much appreciated. And, if you want, leave me a hello on Tumblr! I really hoped you guys were fine with this chapter!


	9. Rush and Dial

_a plate of sunny-side up eggs,  
>bacon, pancakes, a bottle of syrup,<br>and a letter on the kitchen counter _

**CHAPTER **nine_  
>Rush and Dial<em>  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You<span>  
>by littlemusings<p>

* * *

><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>I don't own Glee. At all. Curse you, RIB. Nor do I own any songs used in this story.

* * *

><p>Kurt tore his hands away from the counter, running towards the foyer without a hint of qualm. He grabbed his coat and his keys from the wall and pulled his front door open, slamming it shut as he dashed down the hallway. He began to press the elevator door hastily. <em>Come on, please, come on, hurry up! Can't you go any faster? <em>

As the elevator zoomed up to the fifteenth floor and opened with a ding, before the door could open completely, Kurt slunk in, and began to press the "close" button violently.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, come on, we're going to be late for our flight!" Duke exclaimed, poking his head into Blaine's hotel room. Blaine looked up from the drawers he was double-checking and nodded, standing up and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He picked up his messenger bag and grabbed the handle of his luggage bag with a sluggish motion and hurried out of the hotel room as quickly as possible.<p>

"What took you so long to get back here?" he asked hoarsely as he met with Duke by the elevator.

"I got back earlier this morning, to be honest with you," he said tiredly, scratching his head idly. He immediately looked concerned. "You look like complete shit—and what the hell happened last night? Danielle texted me, saying that she tried to call you and you didn't pick up, so I tried to call you and again, nothing happened."

"Tell you later," Blaine muttered as they entered the elevator.

* * *

><p>"Come on, come <em>on<em>," Kurt complained as he fiddled with his car keys. His head still throbbing, he managed to unlock his car. Throwing his coat onto the passenger seat, he started his car and sped out of the car park. He turned a corner sharply, looking around for police cars, and he found himself behind a large group of cars. "_Goddamn it!" _he shouted, hitting his steering wheel, leaning back in his seat impatiently.

He tapped his foot gently against the gas pedal with sheer impatience, his heart thumping wildly. _Please be there still. Please. I need to talk to you. Blaine, please. _

* * *

><p>"Thank you for staying with us," the concierge nodded stiffly, an obviously plastic smile on his face. Duke handed him the keys to the rooms their team stayed in and turned around to see Blaine and a security guard paling at the sight of a crowd of paparazzi outside of the hotel.<p>

"Um, well, _shit_," Duke blinked, standing next to Blaine. The concierge gaped, mouth wide open at the door, which security was guarding to the best of their ability. Duke turned back to the concierge. "Do you have a back door we can go through? I am not bringing him through there."

"Let's get out of here," Blaine croaked, tugging at Duke's coat sleeve. "Please, let's just go through a different entrance, come on," he said, backing up. The concierge immediately picked up the front desk phone, dialing a number.

"This is Reeve from the front desk. Angela, we're going to need you to allow Blaine Anderson and his manager, Duke Whitely to exit from the back. Yes, yes, Angela, the employee's entrance. Effective immediately, and get some security guards down here, too. I don't think only one bodyguard can effectively watch them," he said quickly, hanging up the phone. Duke nodded to him, and the guard with them hurried behind them, following a woman who popped out from one of the employee rooms in the back.

"Shit," Blaine muttered as they ran to the back door. "How are we getting to the airport now?"

Duke pulled out his cell phone and quickly texted their driver. "He'll be on his way. Just hold on," he muttered as they sat in one of the hotel employee back rooms. Some of the maids and the cooks were poking their heads into the room curiously, some of the women gaping, surprised at the fact that Blaine Anderson was there, in the same room as them. Duke's phone beeped again. "Yeah, Dylan's on his way now."

Blaine sighed in relief, running a hand through his hair groggily. Duke gave him a frown as the employee entrance door opened and their to-airport driver, Dylan, gestured for them to run into the sleek black sedan waiting outside. Blaine and Duke rushed into the car as two bellhops carried their luggage bags and loaded them in the back.

"Hurry, I think someone saw me drive here, and now the horde is on their way," Dylan exclaimed. Blaine buckled in the back with Duke, and Dylan hurried into the front seat, and pushed his foot down on the gas pedal.

* * *

><p>Kurt finally got out of traffic, and continued to look around for traffic police as he continued to drive. <em>Come on, baby, faster<em>, he begged his car. The small, red car continued down the lane, and a black sedan nearly overtook it, to Kurt's irritation and chagrin. _People don't know how to fucking drive—_he thought angrily.

"Fuck you!" Kurt shouted as he turned a corner towards the Palace Hotel. He screeched to a halt outside of the hotel, where a group of photographers were walking away in a hurry, rushing to the numerous media trucks that were parked around him. _Shit. _Kurt ducked down behind his steering wheel as the cars zoomed away. He peeked through his side mirror, and saw that the majority of them had boarded their cars and trucks, and in that brief moment, he flung his car door open and ran through the entrance of the Palace Hotel, his heart racing crazily. One or two reporters turned around and snapped a photo, going crazy.

"Hey, isn't that Kurt Hummel?" one of them shouted.

_Forget them. Forget them, _Kurt thought to himself as the bellboy, who was obviously shell-shocked, opened the front door as quickly as possible. Kurt bound through the door, and right in front of the concierge desk. The bellboys quickly hurried to guard the door, and the concierge stared at him, wide-eyed. Kurt gripped the desk tightly, breathing heavily.

"Mr. … Mr. Hummel!" the concierge exclaimed in shock. Kurt knew his appearance was wildly surprising to the people who noticed him in the lobby.

But, he honestly didn't care.

"Please connect me to Blaine Anderson's room," he said gruffly.

The concierge's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, but they just checked out and left and they're on their way to the air—"

Kurt turned around and ran out, pushing the paparazzo blocking his way. He dove into his car, slamming the door shut as the reporters began crowding his window. He turned his key in the ignition and zoomed down the avenue.

* * *

><p>Blaine slunk his messenger bag over his shoulder as he and Duke walked out of the baggage check-in line and walked towards their terminal at LaGuardia.<p>

"Thank god we got out of that mess," Duke grumbled as they put their bags and shoes in baskets as they were checked and put through metal detectors. "I thought we never would."

"Yeah," Blaine said hoarsely as they found seats near the gate. Duke frowned and looked at him.

"Blaine, what happened last night?"

Blaine shrugged and swallowed, hard. "Things. Some of it is fuzzy, but things happened."

Duke stared at him carefully. "Things."

"Don't ask," Blaine whispered as he shifted in his seat, clutching his bag tightly.

* * *

><p>"Oh, I fucking hate you, New York traffic," Kurt groaned, honking his horn loudly.<p>

* * *

><p>"Flight 2340 to Chicago is now boarding."<p>

* * *

><p>Kurt buried his face in his hands as the traffic increased. <em>Whatever deity is controlling my life hates me. <em>

* * *

><p>Duke and Blaine hurried to the gate, handing their tickets to the stewardess, and headed in.<p>

* * *

><p>Kurt finally arrived at LaGuardia Airport, but the only problem was to find the ideal parking space.<p>

* * *

><p>The two men took their seats in business class, buckling in.<p>

* * *

><p>He finally found a space, parked, and dashed for the main door of the airport, hurrying in and looking around. Kurt looked up at the blinking flight schedule and his heart dropped. Flight 2340 to Chicago was boarding, and was about lift off.<p>

No, scratch that, it was already lifting off.

Kurt rubbed his eyes with his hands, his head throbbing painfully, and tried to hold back tears.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Right after take-off<strong>_

Duke was fast asleep next to Blaine on the plane; his cheek pressed against the closed window, a speck of drool dripping from the edge of his mouth, the sound of a little snore emitting from him. Blaine gave him a withering look and put his headphones on, blasting his music as he tried to sleep, but he couldn't. He tried to adjust his position on the airplane seat – it was _business _class, for god's sake: the seats were incredibly huge – but he absolutely couldn't sleep. His head was still aching from the night before, and a foggy memory was nagging him irritably.

Blaine could only remember little fragments from the night before. He remembered the entire Savore dinner, the grocery store, and Kurt's studio, but everything else seemed like a dense fog. He could remember very few details.

Well, he had to admit to himself, he remembered all of his feelings, but not the words he said…and he kept on feeling the ghost of Kurt's lips on his own. Blaine sat up in his seat and stared at his iPod, which he was now gripping tightly. He quickly pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his inbox. Nothing.

"Sir, please put your phone away," a stewardess said gently. Blaine gave her a guilty look and complied, stuffing his phone back in his back pocket.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and to leaned back in his seat once more.

_That letter you left—wow, Blaine. You shouldn't even have left a damn letter. That makes things worse. Don't do things that make situations worse! You've learned that before. Pay attention. And making breakfast for him—now that's rich. You're the King of Corny and Pathetic. _

Why _had _he cooked Kurt breakfast? He knew that after drinking that much last night, Kurt wouldn't be up until the late afternoon, which was quite probable. _It was an act of gratitude. A very simple and kind act of gratitude. Yeah, keep saying that, Blaine. Keep saying that in that curly head of yours. _And did they really kiss? Blaine put his hand to his lips and touched them tentatively. They probably did, considering the fact that they woke up in the same bed. He was lucky nothing happened. He was relieved that they were still fully clothed and did nothing stupid the night before. But he knew Kurt knew how to hold his alcohol, depending on the situation.

Out of all of the words he _did _remember, however, he remembered the following: _love, photo, younger, still, remember, _and_ morning. _None of them seemed to make sense to him.

Except for "love". Who said it, though? Him or Kurt? The word was eating at him inside, and he just wanted to take his entire plane seat and toss it out of the airplane.

"Duke," he hissed, shaking his manager by the shoulder. Duke didn't budge and just shifted his sleeping position. _How can he sleep? _"Duke. Whitely. Desmond."

"Dani," Duke mumbled, smiling. Blaine rolled his eyes and continued to shake him awake. "N-no, you're a bitch. You are very pretty."

When Duke came back to the Palace that morning, he was grinning like a fool, and looked absolutely ridiculous since he was still wearing his party outfit. All he told Blaine was 'Best night of my life,' and hurried to his own hotel room to pack up. _That makes one of us_, Blaine thought bitterly. He was happy for his younger sister, though.

Blaine nudged Duke violently, and the older man jolted in his seat and grasped the arm handles of his seat in dear life. "Are we crashing?" he hissed loudly, looking around. Blaine rolled his eyes and gave him an apathetic look. "Oh. Bad thing to say. What?" he asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

"Oh, so _now _you want to talk. Blaine, we have one hour left on this plane ride," Duke muttered, leaning back in his seat, tucking his Yankees cap over his eyes in frustration. "We can talk when we get to Chicago. I'm a sleepy manager. I need my sleep."

Blaine pulled the hat off of his friend and manager's head and bit his lip in embarrassment. "I really need to talk to you, Duke. It's…it's about…"

Duke sat back up. "Kurt. All right. You know what? I think this is the perfect time since we've got proper privacy for the time being."

"Are you being serious, or are you still on your lover's high?"

"Yes, I am, and shut up," Duke sighed exhaustedly. "Anyway, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I'm sorry. That was Very Tired Desmond talking, not Duke."

"I'm sorry," Blaine mumbled, burying his face in his hands. Duke patted his back gently.

"Oh, shut up, Blaine. You've got me, always," Duke said sincerely, smiling at his best friend. "Now, since this morning you basically shut me out and packed your shit up like a zombie, you owe me information. What happened last night? Don't tell me he forced sweet moves on you, because if he did, I will seriously make this plane turn around so I can give Kurt Hummel a kick somewhere he won't like."

"I got drunk."

"Obviously. You look like shit. You have been looking shitty since this morning. So much for staying sober to set an example for your little sister."

"Oh my god." Blaine stared at him. "You and Dani really are soul mates."

"Shut up. That's the corniest thing you've ever said to me _about_ me, and you've said a lot of corny things," Duke countered. "Please, do continue."

Blaine lowered his voice. "I woke up next to him."

Duke gave him a hard, quizzical look. "Fully clothed?"

"Yes, you idiot," Blaine snapped quietly. "I don't even remember half the things I said, and I probably said the stupidest things in the world. I need to get help."

"You're not crazy, Blaine, you're just…" Duke sighed in frustration. "You love the guy. I think he loves you back, and that's so goddamn obvious, the way he acted during the party, and the fact that he and Marksman are now splitsville. But Blaine, I don't know why the hell I'm saying this now, but you need…you need to know what you want, and possibly move on."

"I remember telling him during dinner that we should go our separate ways after last night, if that counts," Blaine said bitterly, falling back in his seat. He felt lucky the business class cabin was nearly empty.

"Well, is that what you want?"

"Yes, and no," Blaine grumbled, reassuring himself more than Duke.

Duke hit Blaine gently in the back of his head. "You need to make up your mind."

"Ouch, that hurt," Blaine muttered, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. "And yes, I do. He had so many shields up; it was impossible to tell how he actually felt. He left because he was scared of a long distance relationship. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that? And throughout the night all he was doing was hinting that he wanted to get back together. How the _fuck _are we supposed to be together if he's not for a long-distance relationship?"

"You hate long distance relationships, too, idiot," Duke pointed out. Blaine rolled his eyes.

"Don't remind me."

"What I see is: if he really loves you, he's going to, for lack of a better word, _fight _for you. You fought for him plenty of times, it's his turn to fight."

"Yeah, you need a better word than 'fight.'"

"Shut up. Don't judge my vocabulary."

"Yeah. You're right, though," Blaine whispered. "If he really does love me—"

"—Then he will have to prove it to you. There. That's a better word. 'Prove'. He needs to _prove _to you that he really does 'love' you. I deserve all the awards. Anyway, you deserve no less. Kurt is a very guarded person. He needs to let those walls come down and prove it to you and he needs to stop being so proud and scared of what people will think, and you should stop that, too."

Blaine stared at his friend. He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I see what you mean."

"God, Blaine, you can be so stupid sometimes."

"I get that a lot," Blaine said with bitter amusement.

"So, this 'separate ways' shit. Are you going to go on with that?"

Blaine shrugged. "It's so close to the top of my 'things I want' list, honestly."

"But…you love the guy."

"Oh, whatever," Blaine grumbled, folding his arms.

"Oh, the things we all do for love," Duke muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Blaine, if I were you, which would be totally weird, I suggest you wait and see."

"Point made," the shorter man agreed. "We'll just sit and wait."

"The waiting part needs to last for a bit, because you know, he just…with his fiancé—"

"—Don't remind me."

"Done. I'm done. Now, get some sleep since we'll be there soon enough, then we'll grab something to eat. Don't you have to meet one of your friends tomorrow?"

"Yeah. David."

"So get some rest, Blaine. You're going to need a lot of it."

Duke shifted into his sleeping position once more, and Blaine sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. _Prove it, Kurt. Just…prove it. _He touched his lips tentatively once more, and put his headphones back on. Coincidentally, Jason Mraz's _Beautiful Mess _began playing, and it triggered a quick, foggy memory in the back of his head. He blinked quickly, shook his head in disbelief, and closed his eyes, falling asleep.

"Oh, and Blaine?" Duke asked, peering at his friend from under his Yankees cap. Blaine jolted and sat up.

"Yeah?"

"Just imagine what Dani would say about this. She'd really say the same thing, you know."

Blaine nodded stiffly.

"And…one question. You don't…mind, do you? The whole me and her thing?"

Blaine smiled. "No, no I don't."

"Just to let you know, she loves you very much. Don't shut her out. Call her once we land."

"I will."

And with that, Blaine went back to sleep, and his mind ventured back into the place he didn't want it to.

* * *

><p><strong>2016  summer**_**  
>Los Angeles, California<strong>_

"_Open up this goddamn door, Blaine James Anderson!"_

_Blaine shuffled under his sheets and put his pillow over his head in frustration. In all honesty, he didn't feel like getting off his couch to walk down the hallway to open the front door. _

_What was the point?_

"_I swear to all the fairy and dwarf deities in this universe, and on my vast collection of toe socks and K-Pop CDs, that if you don't open this door, I will go Spiderman on you and climb up the side of this fucking building and sneak in through your windows. BEE!" his younger sister kept on shouting, ramming her fist violently on his front door. "Open this door! I'm eighteen, hungry, and young, and because I am young, I shall die easily if I don't get proper nourishment or care! I flew here from fucking Ohio!" _

_He sat up on his couch slowly and scratched the back of his neck, frowning deeply at the door. "Hold on!" he shouted hoarsely. _

"_Don't tell me to fucking 'hold on,' man! Hurry up and open this door! It's only been, what, fifteen minutes! Your neighbors are going to open their doors and tell me to shut the fuck up any time soon!"_

"_Stop cursing, Danielle!" Blaine shouted as he put on his slippers slowly and shuffled to the door, every part of his body aching; his head throbbing madly. "I'm coming, damn it!" _

"_Come here faster! I'm going to call Desm—I mean, Duke, if you don't hurry up!"_

_Blaine angrily pulled aside his door locks and thrust the door open. His sister threw herself upon him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. Blaine looked down at her with a weak smile. Eighteen year-old Danielle put her hands on his shoulders and stared at him, baseball t-shirt, skinny jeans, Ray Bans and all. _

_She appraised him for a brief moment and said quite bluntly, "You look like total shit."_

_Blaine turned around and walked back to his couch and sat there, staring at the floor blankly. "I know." He looked back up at her. "What on earth are you doing in California, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked groggily. _

"_Mom and dad sent me. You haven't been calling or Skype-ing or texting any of us, so I decided not to go to Writing Camp back in Ohio to stay with you here in Los Angeles for two fucking weeks. Duke called me last week, saying that you haven't been calling him, either. You need to be taken care of, Bumblebee." _

"_I don't need to be—"_

"—_you obviously _do!_" Danielle shouted. "Look at this place! It's a pigsty! You have scruff! You never have scruff! Your hair doesn't have copious amounts of product in it! It's so weird! Good thing you still shower, because if you didn't shower at all these past two weeks, I would have been appalled to call you my dapper older brother, and I probably would have disowned you by now! You would have been a mockery to impeccably dapper and clean gay men everywhere." _

_She took a deep breath and stood in front of him, arms folded, biting her lower lip._

_Blaine looked at her blearily, his eyes bloodshot. _

"_Have you been eating at all?"_

_He looked towards what used to be his and Kurt's kitchen and back at her. "A little, but I'm getting tired of microwaveable pasta," he said sheepishly. Danielle sighed and sat on the coffee table. _

"_Blaine."_

"_Danielle," he said sarcastically, falling back into the fetal position on his couch. _

"_Bee," she said gently, grabbing at his hand and holding it tightly. Blaine bit his lip tightly, trying to hold back his tears, and he let out a choking sob, the tears free-flowing down his face. Danielle closed her eyes, opened them, and sat down by her brother's head and put it on her lap and held him and stroked his hair tenderly. _

"_He's gone, Dani, he's really gone," he sobbed, sitting up and sobbing into her t-shirt. _

_She blinked back tears and rubbed his back. "You should have heard what he said, Dan, he didn't love me anymore. He's gone," he choked. _

"_Shhh, Bee, don't cry," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm here. Don't worry. Want me to make you some hot cocoa, with rainbow marshmallows, like old times?"_

_Blaine nodded, still crying, and she took his hand and pulled him off the couch and into the kitchen. _

"_You know, the secret to my hot cocoa recipe," she said, as she pulled out a box of Swiss Miss, "is the added awesome." _

_Blaine sat on one of the kitchen stools and wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve, giving her a sloppy smile. "Yeah, right, Dee." _

"_You know I'm the most awesome person on this planet," she scoffed as she poured water into a kettle. "Okay, what temperature do you want your cocoa?"_

"_Scalding." _

_She frowned. "Uh, no. I am not helping you commit esophagus murder," she said indifferently, sniffing. "You're a singer. You don't want your vocal chords to be destroyed by an incredibly delicious and blistering drink." _

_Blaine clasped his hands together and gave her a very small smile. _

"_I feel pathetic."_

"_You're not."_

"_You had to fly here and skip out on writing camp for the first time because I'm a fucking mess."_

"_Ah, you cursed. Thank god, you finally cursed." _

"_That doesn't mean you should," he responded indignantly. _

"_I'm eighteen, and everyone fucking curses nowadays, Blaine."_

"_I'm twenty-two, and I don't have a sailor's mouth like you." _

"_Four years? I don't give a flying fuck," Danielle whistled as she searched the cabinets for mugs. "Where the hell are your mugs?"_

"_Top cabinet, top shelf on your right."_

"_Holy fuck, man. I am 5'3" and I can't reach that. You get it," she said, stepping aside, laughing. Blaine hopped off the stool and ruffled her hair gently as he opened the cabinet. His hands lingered on the cabinet door handles as he saw the color-coded mugs—the blue ones were Kurt's, and the white ones were his. He bit his lip and shut the cabinet immediately, turning his back from Danielle's view. _

_He heard her sigh and grab a stool to reach for the mugs. He heard the cabinet door shut and heard her pour the hot water from the kettle into the mugs and heard her mix the cocoa mix and marshmallows. He gripped the counter tightly and felt as if his heart were going to rip in two._

"_Blaine." _

_He turned around and his sister held out one of his white mugs to him. Blaine took it graciously and blew at the steam coming from the cocoa and sipped it. _

"_Tastes good?"_

"_Like when we were kids." _

_They stood in silence for a few minutes._

_Danielle stared at her brother as they drank their cocoa. "What did he say to you?" she asked softly. _

"_A lot of things," Blaine whispered back. "Just…just a lot of fucking things." _

"_If you also don't mind me asking, Bee…where is he now?"_

"_New York City, where he always wanted to go," Blaine answered bitterly. "The Big Apple." _

* * *

><p><strong>2019, Present-Day <strong>/ _New York City, Upper East Side  
><em>

Kurt finally arrived back at his apartment, parking his Volkswagen in the car park. He sat in the darkness for a while, his head leaning against his steering wheel as it throbbed painfully. _Never driving while hung over ever again. Never pulling a stunt like that ever again. Never. Never will I ever. _

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and turned it on. He had a dozen missed calls from his parents, his assistant, Finn, and Rachel. Staring at it, he immediately called the first number—his dad's.

It began to ring, and Kurt tried to hold back tears and hide the lump in his throat as his dad answered with a very concerned "_Kurt!"_

"Dad," Kurt sobbed. "Daddy," he choked. He hadn't called his father 'daddy' since he was eight.

"_Kurt, what's wrong, kiddo? Why haven't you been answering any of our calls?" _Burt chastised, his voice firm, yet comforting.

"Daddy, I…I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Kurt whispered. "Blaine…Blaine's…"

"_Look, scooter, I just want to clear something up—what happened at that party? Where are you? We're staying at the Marriott with Quinn and Finn and Rachel, and I can drive up to your apartment. Just give me the directions and—"_

"—No," Kurt said hoarsely, leaning back in his seat, hugging his legs, pressing his phone tightly to his ear. "Dad, really, it's okay—I can explain to you now."

"_Where's Anthony?_"

Kurt gripped his phone even more tightly. "Dad…dad, we're…we're not getting married anymore. He left."

There was a brief moment of silence. Kurt suspected that he was put on speakerphone, and that Quinn, Finn, Rachel, and Carole were all in the same room.

Finn's outburst confirmed his suspicions.

"_What?" _

"Oh, god, I knew you all were in the same room—" Kurt groaned, his voice croaky, the tears falling down his face.

"_That doesn't mean you can hide everything, Kurt," _Burt snapped. "_What happened? I saw that man punch you, and I can easily go look for him and punch him back. And Blaine, what happened to him? Will you please explain to me why he was the entertainment at your party?_"

"I don't know, dad, Anthony was the one who hired him to perform," Kurt whispered. "And no, no, no you don't. That was justified, and to correct you, he didn't mean to punch me."

"_Well, he did, so if you don't mind, I'll go look for him and punch his face in,_" Finn growled in the background.

"_Finn, calm down," _Quinn exclaimed. "_Really, Kurt? An accident? Do you really think that his fist meeting your face was an accident?" _

"He meant to punch Blaine. Which was what I wanted to do, but he missed because he didn't aim properly since Blaine is obviously vertically challenged," Kurt said humorlessly.

"_Kurt, this is all over the news now," _he heard Rachel chip in.

"Yeah, yeah…"

"_And holy shit, did you seriously drive back to the Palace just now?"_

"What?" Kurt asked, blinking, his eyebrows furrowing.

"_It's on the news!" _Carole gasped. Kurt heard the television volume being turned up in their hotel room and he could make out just a little bit of the news piece.

"_Fashion designer, Kurt Hummel, was seen earlier today driving to the Palace Hotel. He was suspected of looking for Blaine Anderson, who he is rumored to have relations with. He later drove off from the Palace and in the direction of LaGuardia Domestic Airport."_

Kurt groaned out loud. "Fuck!"

"_Kiddo…did you…?" _Burt said, taken aback_._

"Oh my god," Kurt moaned. "Yes, yes I did and—"

"_Dude, you have a freaking bruise on your face!" _Finn exclaimed. "_Oh, man, I'm seriously going to find that Anthony Marksman and—"_

"Finn. No."

"_You were looking for _Blaine_, of all people?_" Rachel exclaimed. "_Kurt, you are quite the romantic—"_

"—_I thought _you _broke up with _him," Burt said gruffly.

There was another awkward, brief silence.

"Dad, I—"

"_Kurt, kiddo, I love you to death. But really, do you want to hurt that poor guy again_, _right when you've broken your engagement with Anthony_?"

"Correction, Anthony broke the engagement—"

"_Besides the point." _

"Dad, what should I do about Blaine?"

"_What happened to Blaine, anyway?"_

"He and I had dinner together…and he…he…stayed the night."

"_WHAT?" _everyone in the room shouted collectively. Kurt muttered an expletive under his breath.

"Not what you think," he said, embarrassed.

"_Oh my god." _

"_You're insane," _Finn snorted.

"_You're going to have to do better than that, kiddo," _Burt said gruffly.

Kurt's phone beeped. "Dad, I have another call on the line."

"_Call me later, Kurt. Call me later, okay?" _

"I will. I…I just wanted to hear your voice," Kurt said sheepishly. "Love you, dad, love all of you."

Shouts of "_love you, too_" rang around the room. Kurt hiccuped and received his next call.

"_Kurt!"_

"Jamie!" Kurt exclaimed.

Her voice was panicky. "_Your phone has been off for ages, and we've been wondering where you are at the office, and I know it's a bad time with everything going on, but we really need to get the line done in time because the board just called me and they need something for presentation within the next two weeks—"_

Kurt nearly dropped his phone.

He had to go back to work.

"I'll be at the office in one hour."

He hung up the phone, and got out of his car, rushing towards his apartment building. _I need to take a goddamn shower._

* * *

><p>Kurt hurried into the Pavarotti building quickly, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he balanced his two loaded Marc Jacobs bags and binders and various colors of cloths in his heavily laden arms. "Door," he said firmly to the doorman, who opened it immediately. Several people said 'good morning' to him, and he responded back quickly.<p>

"Mr. Hummel!" the front-desk receptionist squawked as he passed by. Kurt stopped and turned to face her.

"Yes, Mal?"

"Miss Cervico just called, she's asking for your next article for next month's issue of _Vogue, _and the board just called!"

"Can you tell Marnie that I've got a shit-ton of things to do today? I have to present things to the board within the next two weeks," Kurt exclaimed as he continued to rush towards the elevator.

"Mr. Hummel, you also need to present to the board next week instead of the next two—"

Kurt spun around and gaped at her. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Just then, Jamie exited the main elevator, and ran to Kurt immediately.

"Sorry, Kurt, but—" Mal bit her lip. Kurt groaned and handed his things to Jamie.

"Welcome back," she whispered in his ear as Kurt dug into his bag for his cell phone. He gave her a simpering look and they both walked back towards the elevator.

"Thanks, Mal!" Kurt shouted at the receptionist, who gave him a weary thumbs-up.

"I'm sorry," he muttered as they entered the elevator. Jamie shrugged. "What else have I missed besides a freaking-out Marnie and the fact that the designs for the new line have to be ready for presentation to the board by next week? Are the other designers ready to show me their stuff, because I don't think I can—"

Jamie gaped at him. "—Kurt. Breathe, Kurt. _Breathe._"

Kurt took a deep, shuddering breath. Jamie appraised him, gawking at his appearance. Her eyes landed on his bruise.

"You look like a mess," she exclaimed. Kurt gave her a simpering look and leaned back against the wall of the elevator.

"I didn't have time to complete my moisturizing routine—"

"It's not that, Kurt," she said hoarsely, staring at him through her glasses.

"I saw the time and realized that I shouldn't just sulk in my personal studio, that I should actually go to work and live life, just like he told me last night," he said, tearing up, his voice choking. "Oh my god, Jamie, I'm so stupid."

"You're not," she said indignantly, balancing his binders in her arms. "Kurt, I think you need to lay low for a while and take a vacation once all of the board stuff is done."

"Agreed," he nodded stiffly. He wiped his eyes quickly. "What else have I missed?"

"Media circus yesterday. Reporters were flocking the front of the building, looking for you. I told them to piss off and 'no comment,'" she muttered. "They were here earlier, too, but I told them you weren't here and that you went…abroad."

Kurt sighed in relief. "Thank you, thank you."

The elevator dinged and they finally reached the top floor, Kurt's main studio. They dropped his stuff onto the pristine white leather couch and stood at the table, beginning to sort out designs.

"Kurt…if you don't mind me asking, what happened last night?" Jamie asked hesitantly.

"He kissed me."

Her eyes widened.

"…Drunk, Jamie, drunk. He was drunk," Kurt said sullenly. "I'm so fucking stupid, I shouldn't have invited him over, and now he probably is pissed off with me and everyone and he's in Chicago and Anthony called off the engagement and now I have to find a smaller apartment for myself and re-design and Blaine and—"

"I told you Kurt, _please, breathe_," she said, rubbing his arm gently. Kurt slunk away from her grip and plopped down on the couch.

"I can't even think straight right now. You saw the news piece about me going to the Palace, didn't you?"

"I was thinking about going there myself and looking for Duke Whitely, but he wasn't there," she said sheepishly.

"Trust me, you should find someone else," Kurt sighed.

Jamie smirked. "Figured that out."

"What should I do?" Kurt said helplessly, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I can't just stroll into his concert and say 'Hey, Blaine, I think I really do love you…I think! I just broke up with my fiancé but sure, let's be together anyway!' Because he had enough of that last night and I really couldn't bring myself to say anything because I knew he wouldn't take me back right away and–"

"—Correction, did you hear him sing on Sunday night? Kurt, he wants you back. He really does, but—"

"I just ruin everything," Kurt grunted, flopping down on the couch.

Jamie huffed and sat on the coffee table next to him. "I have a proposition for you."

Kurt looked up at her, face blotchy.

"What?"

"I say…we fly to Chicago next week."

"Wait, _what_?" Kurt snorted. "Are you kidding me, after that media circus and what happened last night?"

"Do you love that man?"

"I do, I think."

"You _think?_" Jamie guffawed.

Kurt stared at her.

"Jamie, I think I do."

Jamie folded her arms and stared at him, hard.

"Okay, Jamie, I love him."

"Do you love him enough to fly to Chicago and admit it to him?"

Kurt sat up and thought for a minute. "Yeah."

"Let's go to Chicago. Short vacation!"

"—WAIT," Kurt exclaimed, his face darkening. "The board meeting."

Jamie groaned and lay down on the table. "Goddamn board meeting. But hey, you're the boss, so you can easily—"

"Correction, we work with a firm, the firm is our boss," Kurt said skeptically, frowning. "Oh, fuck all that is fashion, even though I love it so—"

"You can easily reschedule these things," Jamie said thoughtfully.

"No, this has been pushed back for far too long," Kurt grumbled. "Plus, I don't think he'll take me back in a heartbeat."

"You flying to Chicago will prove it to him. Just get down on a knee and tell him you love him."

Kurt blinked, thinking of the possibilities.

"Let's go to Chicago."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I'm sorry for not updating sooner. I've been busy with life and school and UGH LET ME DIE. Not really. Just kidding. Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even with the cliffhanger-esque ending! Thank you everyone for your continued support and love. AGH I JUST WANT TO HUG BLAINE AND GIVE HIM LOVE.

And, my tumblr is littlewizardmusings if anyone wants to leave some love or hate or complaints!

Love,  
>Sam<p> 


	10. I Wish He'd Get A Clue

_Let's go to Chicago._

**CHAPTER **ten_  
>I Wish He'd Get A Clue<em>  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You<span>  
>by littlemusings<p>

Kurt leaned back on the couch, mulling thoughts over in his head. _Chicago, board meeting, or board meeting, then Chicago? _"Jamie, did the board schedule the day of the meeting yet?"

Jamie pulled her planner out of her bag and flipped through it. "The new day is this Thursday, and according to Blaine's website, his concert is the same day, at five P.M."

"You really are a fan girl, aren't you?" Kurt smirked, his eyes narrowing. "What time is the board meeting?"

Jamie bit her lip and double-checked her planner. "_Not_ a fan girl. I'm doing this for you, plus I have a cousin who's going to watch this Thursday. Anyway, oh, shit, it's at four p.m." She flashed the circled date in her planner at him.

Kurt ran a hand through his messy hair, and paused in the middle, cursing himself for messing up his coif. "Goddamn it, I hate the board. I wish I could just churn out clothes and all of that and get this public relations and business stuff out of the way," he groaned, standing up. "What the hell are we going to do? I still have to design for the next few days, and I have a Vogue editor's meeting this week, which I've known for _weeks_, oh god, fucking board, they have to ruin everything and change my schedules and all that. You know, I suspect that the day after his concert, he'll go to his next destination, so we have to do this as soon as possible—"

"Maybe we could reschedule, that's always an option. Or just go now."

"I've been asking them to reschedule for the past three weeks, and..." his voice trailed off.

"True," Jamie frowned. "However, I suggest we make a grand escape to Illinois."

"And you're supposed to be my advisor and assistant," he said, turning around, arms folded. He began to pace around his studio "I _do _like the way you think, and though I would love to jump the gun and fly off, the board will shut us down if we don't do anything about the meeting," he said dejectedly, leaning against the design table.

"Have you tried _calling _Blaine?" Jamie asked skeptically. Kurt blinked and stared at her, whipping his phone out of his pocket. He began to scroll through his address book.

"Honestly, my phone was the_ last _thing I thought about this morning."

"I could see that through the press coverage."

Kurt gave her a simpering look. He took a deep breath. "He _should _be in Chicago by now. I really do hope his phone is on…" He clicked 'call,' and Blaine's phone began to ring on the other line. "It's ringing, it's ringing!" he mouthed, panicking, moving over to lean against one of the marble-white walls of his studio for support.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Sheraton Hotel<strong>_ / _Chicago, IL _

Blaine plopped down on his hotel bed, face first into his pillow. Duke poked his head in through the door, knocking gently.

"Get some rest first, then Junie and I will take you city exploring! Chicago, the place you've always wanted to go, right, Blaine?" he said with faux cheer. Blaine mumbled something into his pillow, and Duke sighed. "Okay, sleep off your headache and all that, and we'll just eat the dinner buffet downstairs later. I'll just hang out with Junie and the rest of the gang, and if you need anything, just call me, dude," he said with a softer tone.

Blaine nodded into his pillow.

"You can't punish yourself like this, Blaine."

"I'm not punishing myself," Blaine responded bluntly, lifting his head off of his pillow. "I'm just tired and stuff. I might just practice some of my songs already, and walk around the city alone for a little bit."

"Need me to come with?" Duke asked.

"Duke, I'm your client, not the child you're babysitting," Blaine sighed.

Duke rolled his eyes and sat down on the mini-couch by Blaine's bed. "I might as well be your motherfucking babysitter. I have watched you for three years, you crazy bastard, making sure you don't do anything rash and unhealthy. What if some members of the paparazzo run around and try to harass you? What are you going to do if you're alone and stuff? Do you expect me to cover for you if you get on TMZ for shouting at the cameras they poke in your face?"

Blaine rolled over to face the ceiling. "I won't, don't worry. I'll go…incognito."

"Well, before you go all ninja on me and hide in the shadows of the city, I suggest you take a nap."

"Agreed, already ahead of you on that one."

Duke smiled at his friend and headed towards the door.

"Hey, Duke?"

The older man turned around hands already gripping the door frame of the suite bedroom door. "Yeah?"

"I kissed him last night."

Duke groaned out loud. "You're _kidding _me."

"I was intoxicated as hell, what do you expect?"

"Man, Blaine, you need to stop drinking alcoholic beverages. You get moodier than a girl on her period when you're drunk," Duke muttered. _On more than one occasion, really._

Blaine's phone began to ring: _blow the candles out, looks like a solo tonight_. Without looking at the number, Blaine picked up his phone and quickly clicked 'answer call'. "Hello?"

"_Blaine_," a very familiar voice breathed. Blaine sat up immediately, his face contorted with shock; he looked like he was about to drop his cell phone right then and there. "_Blaine, it's me, Kurt." _

"Who is it?" Duke hissed.

"_Blaine? Hello?_"

Blaine panicked and clicked the hang-up button, dropping his phone as if it were something poisonous. Duke face-palmed himself and let out a groan.

"Let me guess: Kurt Hummel."

Blaine lay back down on his bed and gripped his pillow tightly. "I couldn't, I couldn't, Duke, I couldn't!" he said in a panicky voice, his eyes brimming with tears. "Goddamn it, I couldn't talk to him!"

"Blaine…what if…"

"He's _not _going to prove it, Duke, because he probably just wanted to ask for something or…or…I don't know," Blaine cried, wiping his eyes furiously. Duke walked over to Blaine's bed and picked up his friend's phone, scrolling through it. "Delete the number. Block it or something. I don't know…agh, just delete it. I don't think I…I don't think I can…" Blaine wasn't crying anymore, but there was a little fury in his eyes, a spark of anger in his voice.

Duke stared at him, mouth wide open. "What?"

"I don't know, Duke."

"Blaine, you're going crazy."

"If he _thinks _he can get me back this fast, then…then he's wrong," Blaine said, tossing his pillow aside and standing up. "And on the fucking phone? No."

A smile crept upon Duke's face. "Okay, I think you're turning a tad bit sane again, which is pretty much saying something." He picked up Blaine's phone. "Do you still want me to delete his number? Because I will if you want me to."

Blaine stared at his Blackberry. "Yeah, delete it."

"You still have his card, don't you?"

"Rip it."

Blaine's phone beeped, and he froze. Duke looked at the screen. "It's a text from Dani, relax."

Blaine sighed in relief and took the phone, opening his sister's message.

_You asshole; you're already in Chicago. Text it, bitch. Love, Dee_

He laughed and replied: _Here is my obligatory "I arrived in Chicago safely" text. Love, Bee_. He sent it and handed his phone back to Duke, who scrolled through Blaine's address book, looking for Kurt's number.

Duke showed him the screen, Kurt's contact information already pulled up. "You have five seconds. Deleting in 5…4…3…"

"Just do it," Blaine said. Duke arched an eyebrow and deleted the number. The phone beeped, notifying him that he did, indeed, delete the number. Blaine took his phone back and double-checked. "Done," he breathed. Duke pursed his lips and put his arms on his hips. "Can you block numbers, too?"

"That's a safe idea," Duke said with uncertainty, taking the phone back. He typed something on the phone and in a matter of seconds, Kurt's number was blocked. "Are you really sure about this, Blaine?"

"I…positive. Actually, yeah, let's not go around the city just yet, let's all just eat at the buffet downstairs."

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, New York <strong>

"He hung up on me," Kurt said indignantly, staring at his iPhone. "He _hung up_ _on me._"

Jamie frowned. "Are you sure, or was it your connection?"

"No, he hung up on me."

"Try again."

Kurt re-dialed Blaine's number and waited, biting his lip nervously. _We are sorry, the number you are trying to call has blocked your number. _"Goddamn it! He blocked my number!" Kurt resisted the urge to fling his iPhone across the studio, and just dropped it on the pristine, white couch. "He blocked it! I…I can't…believe it! Shit!"

"Do you have Duke's number?"

"No…oh, god, Anthony's the one who called Duke in the first place," Kurt groaned, walking over to the design table. He dug his hands onto the edges, frustrated. "Jamie, what's my schedule tomorrow?"

"_Vogue_ board meeting at ten, lunch with Marnie at twelve, and then designing, designing, designing."

"I hate that it's still _Tuesday. _Blaine's concert is on Thursday, and…he's probably leaving the next day, because…wait…what if he's there for the rest of the weekend?"

"He only stayed in New York for four or five days because of the engagement party. He has a Toronto concert next Tuesday, though, on his sister's birthday, so he's probably leaving Chicago on Friday afternoon."

Kurt's eyes widened.

"Wait—do you have Danielle Anderson's number?" Kurt snapped, waving his hands around his head, gears running through. "I have an idea, give me her number."

"I don't have it," Jamie said indignantly.

Kurt froze. "Oh. I'm sorry, I forgot."

"Maybe Mal has it at the front desk, because she's the one who got everyone's contact stuff for the engagement party," Jamie suggested, her face turning a little shade of red. "Why Danielle Anderson?"

Kurt walked over to the landline phone on his desk and dialed the front desk number. "Mal? This is Kurt. I'm sorry for getting mad at you earlier and all, but do you happen to have Danielle Marie Anderson's phone number? Yeah…yeah, Blaine's sister, yes, do you have it? No? Argh, thanks anyway." He slammed the receiver down and folded his arms in frustration. "Only her mailing address."

"Why Danielle?"

"She's the only one who can probably get Blaine and I to talk, I guess, sans the alcohol and the awkward dinner, or ask Blaine to call me back—"

"Wouldn't she be on her _brother's side _of it all, though?"

Kurt slapped his own forehead. "Point made."

He began thinking to himself again, thinking of the possibilities.

_You know, I could easily just skip the board meeting. I'm young, I can get shit done in the coming years. I'd just be rushing everything if I—and there's only one Blaine Anderson, there's just one Blaine Anderson, and there are plenty of top boards and years. There's just _one Blaine Anderson. _But then again, I might get fired from _Vogue _because Marnie's just pulling all of these strings just to help me, but she helped me out in the first place and knows everything anyway, so I guess if I explain it to her quietly over the phone and turn in my article tonight, then she might just postpone the meeting again for me. _

_Or, maybe I could just leave tomorrow night…_

"Screw the meetings and all of that: we're going to Chicago tomorrow."

_I am risking so much. Oh, Blaine. You drive me insane. _

Jamie's jaw dropped and she immediately pulled her laptop out of her bag. "What airline?"

"Any, and let's get all of this done so we can leave all the finished designs here so that the team can finish on the little details for the outfits just in case we don't make it back here in time."

* * *

><p><strong>Ryerson University <strong>/ _Toronto, Ontario, Canada _

Danielle dropped her messenger bag on her bed and pulled out her phone.

_Two (2) New Messages_

She opened the first one, which was from Blaine: _Here is my obligatory "I arrived in Chicago safely" text. Love, Bee_. Grinning, she made a mental note to respond to him later. The second message was from Duke, sent just a few minutes ago.

_Hey, Dan, guess what? Kurt called your brother. B resorted to deleting and blocking K's number, that crazy dude, you need to talk to him. Just eating dinner now, call him later. – D_

Danielle's jaw dropped. "What the hell, Blaine? You're deleting and blocking people now?" She dialed Blaine's number on her phone, tapping her foot impatiently. No response. She texted Duke back: _Yo, Duke, tell Blaine to turn on his fucking phone! –Danielle :)_

The message failed to send. "Oh, please tell me they're not doing anything stupid." She tried texting again, and this time the message went through. "Phew, probably just the screwy signal in this place."

She sat down at her laptop, and refreshed _Yahoo! News_, and the first thing she saw on the front page made her hazel eyes widen.

_Kurt Hummel, Seeker Extraordinaire_:  
><em>Recent photos show the 25 year-old up-and-coming fashion designer and Tony Award-winning Broadway starlet rushing towards both the Palace Hotel and LaGuardia Airport. But who was he looking for? <em>  
><strong>Click for more! <strong>

Danielle clicked the button and scrolled through the article, seeing very clear photos of Kurt running up to the reception desk at The Palace, and getting into his car, driving in the direction of LaGuardia Domestic Airport. _It is rumored that he is starting a new fling—ever so soon after the end of his engagement to painter Anthony Marksman—and it's probably with the soulful, pop crooner, Blaine Anderson! _She quickly bookmarked the page and picked up her dormitory landline phone. "Yo, Greeners. Bobby. This is Danielle. Of course, you idiot, this is Danielle Anderson. Um, I'm going to need your hacking skills, so I'm really sorry, can you come up here?"

She shut off her cell phone and took a deep breath, eyeing her landline phone after she hung up. _No distractions, just work. Let's do this. For Blaine. _

* * *

><p>There was a quick, split-second knock on the door, and Danielle opened it as soon as she heard it. Bobby, black-haired and green-eyed, stood there, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Robert, my friend, I have a proposition for you," she said, leading him into her dormitory. "Do you know the fashion designer, Kurt Hummel, the owner of Pavarotti?"<p>

Bobby shrugged and sat down. "He was on the news earlier, and I think it was something about your brother—"

"Shhh, no one's supposed to know that. But, I need some help, and I know that with your writing skills—"

"—Dani, you're the best in our graduating class," Bobby said in a huff.

"Writing and _hacking_ skills," she said quietly. Bobby stared at her. "Well, mostly your hacking skills. Rather, skills in forgery and all of that nonsense."

"What is it?" he asked, his interest piqued. "I don't forge, though, I just like to copy things exactly and make up fake documents for fun, 'cause I focused on movie prop design before I transferred here…"

"Yes, yes, yes, well, I'm going to need you to hack into the _Pavarotti _website and get Kurt Hummel's private number," she spilled out, rubbing her hands excitedly. He stared at her, his eyes widening.

"Really?" he asked. "Won't we get in trouble for that?"

"As you pointed out earlier, yes, this is about my brother."

"Are they really—?"

"Shut it, Bobby, if you do this, then I'll tell you."

"You know, your roommate's going to be back anytime soon and she's probably going to tell on us."

"Arielle won't say a thing, and she knows I have a somewhat-boyfriend, anyway, so she won't assume anything," she said brusquely, not noticing Bobby's slightly crestfallen face. "Now, how the hell do you get into the website?" she asked, folding her arms as she stared down at the screen. Bobby scrolled through the website quickly. "Wait, can you pass me my glasses?"

Bobby handed her a pair of huge wayfarers, and she put them on. "Okay, that's better. Now, how are we going to get his private information?" she questioned again. Bobby held a quick hand up.

"Oh, shit. Hold up," he muttered, reading through a screen. "It seems that when you schedule a private appointment with Kurt to design a dress for, like, a wedding or a red carpet event or something, you receive a password and username so you can log in and go into the private internet portal and then you can web-chat with him about the stuff and possibly schedule flights to New York to meet with him."

"Oh, damn it, are you _serious_?"

"Yeah, and if you work for a major talent agency and stuff like that, he already has your number, and it looks like for this month, his calendar is booked."

"Fuck!" Danielle muttered. "Can't you make a fake account—?"

Bobby was already typing. "Right ahead of you, Dan."

Danielle gave him a smug smile and plopped down on her bed, watching him work away at the computer. "So, what were you going to ask me yesterday night?"

Bobby turned around to face her, blushing. "Nothing, nothing. I was just going to ask you about the next assignment for Journalism."

"We're all on thesis mode, Bobby," she frowned. "But, yeah, whatever, just thesis shit."

"Alright…wait…I think I've got it. How would you like to pretend to be Astrid Bergés-Frisbey?"

"The chick from _Pirates of the Caribbean 4_? The one who played the mermaid?" Danielle snorted. "Really, Bobby? Really?"

"You kind-of look like her anyway," Bobby shrugged. "The eyes and all and the hair and the face…sans the French-Spanish-y accent, of course, but you really do look like her."

"Well, sure. Does she have any red carpet stuff coming up we can pretend we need a dress for?"

Bobby pulled up Google and searched. "I think she has one in a few months, 'cause her new movie with Joey Richter and Jennifer Aniston is coming up soon. They just released the trailer, and I'm betting that most stars get their dresses and stuff ordered and designed months before. It makes sense." Danielle nodded. "So, that movie will be the excuse?"

"Yup! Do we need anymore information?"

"Manager name. Easy to search up—hold on—"

"—Thanks again, Bobby."

"You're welcome, Dani. Oh, and his name is Jacques Steward."

"Okay, get his information and we can enter that, or, rather, we can submit one of the e-mails I'm not using."

"You have multiple e-mails?"

"I made a few when Pottermore first started up in 2011, okay? Screw you if you think I'm weird."

"Oh, that's dirty play, you're probably the reason why I wasn't one of the first million to get on the damn site!" Bobby joked. Danielle smirked. A few more minutes passed, and Bobby worked in silence, typing, Google-ing, and submitting. "Okay…finished!"

Danielle hurried over to the computer and reviewed the information. "Everything is true information about Berges-Frisbey except for the e-mail, which is one of the e-mails you gave me. Is it spelled right?"

She double-checked the information and nodded. "Fuck yes, we're all set."

"I even gave him your cell phone number."

"That's ideal."

"I found the option of ASAP-calling, so he'll call you right away."

"YES!"

Bobby clicked 'submit,' and they waited a few minutes.

"And now, we wait."

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, New York<strong>

"Kurt, you have another order," Jamie called from the front desk of the studio. Kurt looked up from the dresses he was sewing together and frowned. "It's from Astrid Bergés-Frisbey for the red carpet premiere of _Lovely _in late July, and she really needs you to call her right now because according to—"

"I'm coming," Kurt said, wiping his hands off. He walked over to the front desk and peered at the computer. "That's her number?" he asked, pulling his phone out. "I hope this is fast, because I want to finish all of this tonight." He glanced over at the mannequins scattered around his worktable, and papers scattered all over the desk and the floor. "Did you also get the e-mail from the airline?"

"Yes, our tickets are booked for tomorrow night."

"Good. Hold on, I'll give her a call." Kurt dialed the number and waited, walking back to his table.

* * *

><p><strong>Toronto, Ontario, Canada<strong>

"It's ringing!" Danielle gasped. Bobby gripped the chair he was sitting on tightly. She picked up her cell phone quickly. "Hello?"

"_Hello, Miss Bergés-Frisbey? This is Kurt Hummel of Pavarotti; I just received your order."_

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, New York<strong>

"_Kurtsie._"

Kurt's eyes narrowed and his lips turned into a frown. "Wait. _Danielle? _Danielle Anderson?"

"_The very same_," Danielle spoke clearly into the phone.

"Oh, god, what did you do this time?"

"_Asked a friend to make a work order on your site and all of that jazz."_

"Dani, did you know impersonation of a public figure is illegal, and you can get into so much trouble for that?" Kurt muttered into the phone, cupping his mouth. He looked over at Jamie, who was giving him a curious expression. "What is it?"

"_It's about Blaine, and yes, I clearly don't give a fuck, because this _really is _for Blaine."_

"I was about to call you about him, but I didn't have your number earlier…" he whispered. "You probably saw the news earlier—"

"—_Oh, hell yes, and Duke just told me that you tried _calling _my brother earlier, too. What the fuck is going on? Blaine's phone is off now, and I can't get a hold of him personally without Duke there, so—"_

"Let's just say that some things happened—"

"_What the fuck did you do to my brother, if you don't mind me asking?" _she asked bluntly. Kurt could sense the icy tone in her voice, and took a weary breath. "_First, you invite him to dinner, and everything, and then you don't even stop him from leaving in the morning!"_

Kurt didn't know what to say to that. "He didn't wake me up."

"_Point made, because he's an idiot, and you're both idiots, to be perfectly honest with you." _

"You are one straightforward young lady, so unlike your brother."

"_Well, I get it from my dad and my mom, in equal portions." _

"I must say that your sharp tongue really is fierce."

"_Thank you. Anyway, Kurt, you better make up your mind and talk to my brother as soon as possible—but since he blocked your number…uh…well, fuck. I didn't think beyond that."_

"I'm planning to fly to Chicago tomorrow night."

Kurt swore he heard Danielle drop the phone on her side, and a loud yelp. He attempted to suppress a smile as he heard her scurry to pick up her phone. _Still the same old Dani, even though she's already an adult. _"Are you still there?"

"_YOU'RE FLYING TO CHICAGO?" _she yelled into the phone. Kurt winced and pulled the phone away from his ear, and put it back. "_Holy fuck, you're going to Chicago?_"

"Don't you dare tell Blaine!" Kurt said worriedly, his voice lowering. "Please, don't, he might not let me talk to him after what happened last night—"

"_What really happened?"_

"As I remember, lots of shouting, copious amounts of shots, and yelling and dancing and…ugh…more."

"_What a lovely clusterfuck you guys are in. You really love my brother, don't you?" _

"As crazy as this sounds, and so soon after what would be a broken marriage…yes, yes I do."

"_Okay. I just wanted to make sure, because you're really confusing the fuck out of him, and I don't appreciate that." _

"Clearly, because you impersonated an actress who could easily sue you for trying to order a dress under her name. I don't think Astrid Bergés-Frisbey would have liked it if she had a gown appear at her doorstep with a pretty steep bill, if you had gone with the act."

"_Promise not to tell on my friend and I?" _

"Never. By the way…" Kurt asked, as he neared the skyline window, "are you and Duke…as we shall say discreetly, in cahoots with one another?"

"_Romantically or platonically?"_

"Obviously, the question is 'romantically'."

"…_Yes,"_ Dani muttered, her voice lowering as well. "_Well, I kissed him, he kissed me back—I call that progress." _

Kurt smiled softly. "I see. Heard you and Jamie have a little rift going on."

"_I think I may have said a few things when I was drunk, but really, I don't have anything against her, and I hope she doesn't have anything against me," _Danielle responded innocently.

"Do you want to talk to her?" Kurt asked, looking over at Jamie, who was already back to work on her laptop.

"_Um, I'd prefer not to, but if she ever asks, and this is Defensive Danielle talking, _yes, _I am in romantic relations with Desmond Jude Whitely." _

"Thank you, Dani."

"_Sorry for bothering you. Get your ass to Chicago, and someone better video tape it all for me, or rather, take pictures, or I swear: I am going to cut a bitch," _Danielle laughed. Her tone turned much more serious: "_Kurt, please. You hurt him once, don't hurt him again. He really does love you, and most of what he does is for you, so you better fucking prove to him that you really love him. You shouldn't give a flying fuck about what people will think, and after meeting Anthony, I think he'd appreciate it if you made up your mind and do what makes you happy. You know you're stronger than this: just have the courage to tell him._"

Kurt's eyes brimmed with tears, and he smiled, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh, god, you Andersons and your love for the word 'courage'."

"_That's the Kurt I know. Now, I want you to finish whatever you're doing and give Jamie-poo my love and all of that jazz." _

"Bye, Danners."

"_Bye, Kurtsie."_

Kurt hung up the phone and wiped his eyes. He turned around. "That was Danielle Anderson."

"Speak of the devil," Jamie said sarcastically. "Did she really impersonate Astrid Bergés-Frisbey?"

"Yes, like the little devil she is. And, she sends her love."

"Oh, god."

* * *

><p><em><strong>the next evening<strong>_.  
><strong>Chicago, Illinois <strong>/ _The Sheraton Chicago _

After a day of touring the city of Chicago and visiting the theater he would perform in (The Congress Theater, one of the best and oldest in the city), Blaine was exhausted. They had gone everywhere, from the Sears Tower (where Junie had a minor height scare), the Magnificent Mile (Blaine knew he had to take Danielle here one day—it was one of the top shopping areas in the area, to the Field Museum (which vaguely reminded him of _Night at the Museum_), and ate dinner in a popular burger joint. Then, Blaine and Danielle had caught up on the phone, and she chastised him constantly for leaving his phone off. Of course, she didn't mention the fact that Kurt and her talked earlier in the afternoon.

"_Did you seriously block his number?"_

"_I had to, Dani, I had to!"_

"_Dear god, Blaine, 'courage,' my ass!"_

Eventually, after explaining his intentions, she sighed and understood, and they decided to Skype with their parents later in the evening.

Blaine collapsed in the couch of his suite, guitar in hand, plucking some of the strings gently. Duke and Junie sat on respective seats on either side of him, and other members of his tour team were scattered around the room.

"I'm dead," Duke groaned, lying down on the couch he was occupying, putting his feet up.

Junie grimaced. "Gross, Duke, put some shoes on."

"I don't give a flying fuck."

"Oh, you and Danielle are one and the same," she laughed. "She always says 'flying fuck' and whatever crazy catchphrases she comes up with."

"Yup, we're meant to be," Duke said tiredly, putting his Yankees cap over his face. "Man, I thought I was going to get shot wearing this hat down the street."

"Do not flaunt the fact that you're a Yankees fan, Duke, that's taboo. These people are obviously _Chicago Cubs _baseball fans, not New York Yankees," Junie countered.

"I already do this blasphemous act whenever I'm back in San Francisco."

"Yeah, one day, you're going to get shot," Blaine snorted, standing up to pick up his laptop from the coffee table, "and you can't expect Danielle to save your ass."

"Whatever, guys, whatever."

Blaine loaded up Skype and waited for Danielle and his parents to go online. It would be the first time Blaine talked to his father since Friday night, and he knew that Mr. Anderson would be incredibly, blatantly disappointed with his son again. But he knew better not to tell all of the details.

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, New York <strong>/ _Upper East Side_

The day was full of meetings, and Kurt did his best not to tell Marnie he wouldn't be in the state for the board meeting the next day. He planned to leave a message at her office the next morning, when he and Jamie were settled into their hotel, leaving the designs with the seamstresses, and Mal, who would bring everything to the executive office in the Vogue Building. He just had to double-check his luggage, and then he was set to drive for LaGuardia and fly off to Chicago.

"Moisturizing kit, check. Trench coat, check, Doc Martens, check, concealer for my bruise—" he paused, holding up the little compact in his hand. He tossed it aside and continued to double-check his luggage. "Alright…I'm set."

He would call his father, Carole, and everyone in the morning, or later that night when he and Jamie arrived in Chicago.

Locking his bag, he checked his Marc Jacobs carry-on for his ticket and money, and when everything was set, he looked around his living room, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes, opened them once more, and then rolled his bag behind him, walking right out of the front door of his apartment, and to the parking garage.

_Watch out, Blaine Anderson, I'm on my way. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_

Alrighty, I've come up with the official ship name for Duke/Danielle: it's **Danuke**. Because they're explosive like a nuke. Oh god, that was a terrible analogy. OH, **and the first person to catch a line I stole from a Chris Colfer interview wins. Rather, it's a ~song, **but oh well, whoever finds it wins.

_Anywaaayyyy...**  
><strong>_

Hi guys! I just wanted to say thank you for the feedback and the wonderful words you all have left, because…**this is the second-to-last chapter of _I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You_**. Yes, the last chapter is going to be up in the next week or two (depends on how long it takes me to finish, because IT IS GOING TO BE KUH-RAAAZY). Plus, there will be an epilogue after the last chapter!

You're probably going, "LOLWHAT, EPILOGUE?" Trust me. Just trust me.

And about **my Tumblr disappearing**: uhm…about that. Yeaaaah. I hope to get another one soon, so keep on the lookout for my new one, which I hope I'll be able to make soon. It'll still be called "littlewizardmusings".

To download the soundtrack, the link is still on my author's profile, along with photos of the places the story takes place in! I conducted a shitton of research for this story, and the links are on my author's page as well.

Agh, I forgot to say this last chapter, but last chapter and this chapter was/is dedicated to Cass (purekliaination), Lily (aftermecomesthefloods), and Hayley (pleasebeworthit), my lovely Tumblr best friends. Leave them some love and a follow!

Again, I have nothing but love and respect for all of you.

Please leave a review! AGH, IT'S ALMOST THE END. I'M GOING TO FEEL BOTH ACCOMPLISHED AND DEPRESSED AT THE SAME TIME.

But I have another epic tale coming up soon. ;)

Love,  
>Sam<p>

_P.S._ - Lily, Cass, Hayley - I'm aliiiiiiiveeeee! _  
><em>


	11. Always

_The show must go on._

**PLEASE READ! Crazy final beginning-of-the-end author's note! **

First of all, I would like to apologize for the embarrassing month-long delay for the final chapter. I have been very busy with school (it's such a bitch asdflkjsdf), and I only ever had time for essays and all of that nonsense (just kidding). Now that it's our semester break, I took the time to sit and finish this chapter. And what a whopping 24 pages it ended up being. ALMOST 10k WORDS. WELP. SHOOT ME.

Secondly, I would like to thank everyone who has followed this story from the beginning, and the people who started following it when the more recent chapters were posted. This is a milestone for me as a fanfiction author: this is the first fic (besides one-shots) that I have ever completed, and holy crap; this was a rollercoaster of headaches, wild emotions, and everything under the sun.

It was a wonderful journey, writing this little tale, and I am so glad to have shared it with all of you. I made friends through this story—Cat and Cass in particular. And I would like to thank everyone who put it on their Fic-Rec lists and everything—because this really does mean a lot to me as a writer.

It was fun reading the liveblogs (under the tags INGTH & littlemusings, haha, which I am still following on my personal tumblr – my fangirl-fanfiction related one has been deleted due to school) of everyone and reading the wonderful reviews you all have left me over the past…how many months? FIVE MONTHS! That's a long time. Thank you for dealing with the craziness and frustration this fic probably caused you—it really frustrated me at times as well. Haha!

Okay, I'm crying now. Please proceed to read, and as always, I'd love to read crazy liveblogs of the chapter. Tags are INGTH and littlemusings.

I love you all! Thank you again.

Love,  
>Sam<p>

* * *

><p><em>Oh, Blaine. You drive me insane. <em>

**CHAPTER **eleven  
><em>Always<em>  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance With You<span>  
>by <em>littlemusings<em>

_**Chicago, Illinois **_

Blaine jolted when he heard the loud "pop" of his Skype alerts. He sat in his seat grinned.

**Danielle Anderson**_  
>Buh-laaaaaaaainnnnneeeeeeee: 3<em>

**Blaine Anderson  
><strong>_Daaaaaniiiiieeeellle._**  
><strong>

**Danielle Anderson**_  
>You copycat, it's my job to use multiple letters whilst typing to you. Mum and dad aren't online yet, so yeeeeahhhh. Since I was too busy yelling at you on the phone earlier, what did you do this fine, summer's day? <em>

**Blaine Anderson**_  
>Toured around the city, pretty much. You would have loved the shopping district. Lots of amazing clothes and whatnot. <em>

**Danielle Anderson**_  
>Did you buy me anything? It IS my birthday next week, you twat. <em>

**Blaine Anderson**_  
>It's a surprise. Oh, hey, mom and dad are online. Let us brace ourselves.<em>

Blaine took a deep breath when the Skype notification stating that his parents (_Maria and James Anderson came online_) popped up on the top right-hand corner of his laptop. He waited five seconds, and then the familiar incoming call ringtone began to play. He answered it, and two boxes appeared over his head: one with his parents, and one with Danielle, who looked ridiculous in her huge earphones. She looked like she was at a library.

"Hi, mom, hi, dad," he said nervously. Maria Anderson waved back cheerfully.

"_We saw the news_," James Anderson said gruffly, folding his arms. "_About the party and all of that. I _told _you, Blaine—"_

Danielle rolled her eyes. "_Wow, daddy, the first thing you do on Skype: chastise Blaine."_

"—_I'm still angry with you, Danielle Marie."_

"_Pish-posh, father." _

"_Oh, calm down, James,_" their mother frowned. "_Let bygones be bygones. Blaine, are you alright, sweetheart?" _

"I guess," Blaine sighed. He picked up his laptop and walked towards his bedroom, closing the door behind him. "Didn't go…as spectacularly as I…hoped."

"_I knew it, I knew it!" _James exclaimed. Maria punched his shoulder lightly. "_See, son…_"

"I don't know, I guess…he wasn't ready to…you know, get back together." _Ugh. Wrong words. _He decided not to tell them that he spent the night at Kurt's. "However, he and Anthony have ended their engagement."

"_It was on the news. We saw it, and I really wasn't surprised. He really looked like he got a shiner from the punch Marksman gave him," _James muttered.

"_It was the black eye to end all other black eyes," _Danielle said solemnly. Blaine bit back a giggle.

"_I see," _

"_Am I really going back to Ohio this fall?_" Danielle blurted out. Their parents burst into laughter.

"_No, you can still go to New York after graduation next month._" James sighed deeply. "_I'm sorry about yelling at the both of you back in New York. I was over-thinking—rather, overreacting, but…well…it turns out that I was kind-of right, Blaine." _

"You were," Blaine grumbled back. "It's okay, dad."

"_Cool beans, dad. It's alright," _Danielle nodded.

Blaine frowned. "Cool beans? Wow, Dani."

"_Oh, shut up, King of Cheese." _

"_Anyway, what else is going on, anak?" _Maria asked, immediately changing the topic. "_We visited your grandpa in Columbus yesterday, so we haven't been able to catch up on news." _

"I have my concert here tomorrow at the Congress Theater. I'm pretty excited about it; I've always wanted to perform there," Blaine said with a grin. "Not much has happened, you know."

"_Wish we could be at all of your concerts," _Maria said sadly. "_We'll be watching the live stream tomorrow, though_."

"_Me, too,_" Danielle chirped.

"_How is your nose, baby girl?" _

"_Fine, mom. Uhm…listen, about my nose…I kind-of have something to tell the both of you."_

"_Go ahead, shoot._"

"_Anything, sweetie."_

Blaine picked up his pillow and hugged it, burying his face with it in order to suppress his laughter.

"_I'm…kinda-sorta going out…with Duke."_

"_WHITELY?"_

* * *

><p><strong>The Congress Plaza Hotel, <strong>_**Chicago, Illinois**_

Kurt fell facedown onto his hotel bed, Jamie doing the same on hers. The two had to rush out of the airport to avoid being seen, and it didn't help that the taxi cab was playing a replay of last night's _Entertainment Tonight_, featuring a nice paparazzi video of Kurt running to the Palace hotel.

"I'm exhausted," he groaned.

Jamie looked up from her pillow. "So am I."

A short bout of silence followed her comment, and the two of them remained, flat on their respective beds.

He flipped over to stare at the ceiling. "Jamie?"

"Yes?"

"Honestly…I'm scared," he whispered. "I'm really scared."

"Don't be," she said, turning to face him, clutching her pillow, her dark hair falling over her face. "You love him, right? You're twenty-five, Kurt. Follow by what you think is best. You think this trip was an impulse?"

"A little," he chuckled.

"Yes, this may have been an impulse, but call me crazy, but I think you were meant to come here, anyway, you know?"

"Like, fate brought us here or something?" Kurt joked.

"Yeah," Jamie mused. "Have ever heard of the 'red string of fate' myth?"

"No," Kurt responded, turning to face her, his interest piqued.

"It's a Chinese legend. It says that a red string of fate ties two people together. The string is tied around the pinky of each person, and fate works crazily—and it supposedly brings the two people together eventually. The string may tangle or stretch, but the connection remains. It is almost inevitable that the two people are soul mates. You and Blaine probably have a string. It was probably stretched during the three years you two spent apart."

"Never thought you were one for folklore," Kurt laughed.

Jamie smiled. "My mom told me this story before I moved to New York. She told me that my ex and I didn't seem to have a 'red string'. When I asked what it was, she told me."

"So you're saying that…"

"…Maybe the string pulled you here. Part impulse, part fate."

"No wonder I hired you. You're a smart cookie," Kurt winked.

"It may sound like folklore, the whole string thing, but I believe in fate. And I think fate will bring you two back together, as corny as that sounds."

"I'm a romantic, Jamie. I soak in all romanticism," Kurt joked.

"I say we get some sleep before the big day tomorrow."

"Indeed."

The two stood up and started to rummage through their bags to get their pajamas. Kurt immediately took out his moisturizing kit and began his routine.

_I'm still scared._

_And I don't know what I'm going to do. _

* * *

><p><strong>The Next Morning: The Chicago Sheraton Hotel<strong>

Blaine lay in his bed after slamming his alarm off. He rolled out of bed and went straight for the bathroom, brushing his teeth, then showering. After getting dressed, he found Duke sitting in the living room of his suite, Yankees cap over his eyes.

"You know, you could have knocked," Blaine laughed. Duke shot up and clutched at his chest.

"Holy shit, Blaine, you freaked me out."

"Um, I should be saying the same to you," Blaine grinned, sitting down next to him, picking up an apple from the fruit basket on the coffee table. "I'm going to meet up with an old school friend today before the concert. He's coming here soon, actually."

"David, right? David Thompson?"

"Yeah."

"Is he the one you said adores the gavel or something?" Duke scratched his head confusedly. Blaine attempted to repress a snort and shook his head.

"Nah, that was Wes. Wes is in England."

"The one who thought he was part-British?"

Blaine laughed. "Yeah. Still…hasn't ruled it out," he trailed off, remembering that was the exact phrase he used when telling Kurt about Wes a few nights ago. He took a deep breath, and a loud knock was heard from the front door. Blaine walked over to it and answered it, revealing David Thompson, who was grinning broadly. Blaine's face broke into a grin and he gave his old friend a hug and let him inside the room.

"Duke!" David exclaimed, giving him a hi-five. Duke obliged and smiled, pointing to the opposite couch.

"I've gotta go check on the rest of the crew," Duke grinned. "I'll let you two catch up."

After Duke left, Blaine sat in between the two couches and he and David began talking.

"Want me to order some room service?"

"Nah, it's fine. I already ate before coming here."

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Water's fine. I've gotta get back to the hospital soon. I've got to work another shift," David sighed, leaning back in his seat. "How have you been, Blaine? Been hearing…quite a bit about you in the past week."

"Yeah, about all of that—"

"—Did you hear about Kurt?"

"Wait, what…?"

"Kurt was seen crazily driving towards the Plaza the day you left."

Blaine stared at David indignantly.

"No way," he breathed. David shrugged.

"It was all over the news. I'm surprised you didn't catch it."

"You have got to be kidding me. Maybe he forgot something in the Villard Ballroom—that's it," Blaine grumbled, reassuring himself more than David. "Probably something important, and remembered two mornings later. That has _got _to be it."

David sighed. "Anyway, Blaine…how's everything else?"

Blaine immediately jetted off into a separate conversation with his old friend about everything that didn't have to do with Kurt E. Hummel.

But, something in the back of his head was bugging him.

* * *

><p><strong>The Chicago Plaza Hotel <strong>

_Kurt collapsed onto his tiny apartment couch, exhausted. He had just come home from an entire day of _Wicked _rehearsals, and his legs were aching from standing up for so long, and never in his life had his voice been strained like it had been that day. "Run it again! Popular! Defying Gravity! I'm Not That Girl! Come on, Hummel!" he mocked his director, rolling over to face his ceiling. Sighing, he stood up and shuffled to his equally tiny kitchen, and looked through his refrigerator. _

You're stupid, _he thought to himself as he pulled out a head of lettuce, a pack of croutons, and Caesar salad dressing. He put it all on the counter and wandered over to his very small stack of boxes. Rummaging through the boxes, he cursed under his breath. _Where is my fucking mixing bowl?

_He stood up and kicked his box in frustration and put his salad ingredients back in the refrigerator. _

Japanese, here we go again.

_Kurt went over to his landline and dialed the number of the Japanese restaurant he had been ordering from for the past week, and ordered his normal dish of teriyaki chicken and California maki._

California, _he thought bitterly, hanging up the phone with force. _God, Kurt, why are you so stupid? _He thought, tears brimming in his eyes. _

_It had been two weeks. Two, antagonizing weeks without Blaine by his side, encouraging him in all his endeavors. To Kurt, it was odd not to have Blaine wake up next to him, smiling. It was strange not to have someone hold him while he slept—it was incredibly strange not to have someone sing stupid little random songs as early as five in the morning. _

You ended it. You shouldn't complain_, half of him believed. The other half was bitter and angry and confused—_You just threw all of it away, Kurt.

_At night, he still stayed on the right side of the bed, and never moved to the left. _You have got to get your shit together, Kurt Hummel. You have to try and get used to this.

You have to get used to this, _the voice in his head repeated. _No one is going to hold you anymore, no one is going to sing you Katy Perry songs, and no one is going to push you to succeed. _The voice grew louder and louder, calling his name ominously—_

"Kurt."

"_Mmmph_."

"Kurt Elizabeth Hummel."

"_Blaine_," Kurt mumbled in his sleep, turning over slowly, gripping the pristine white pillow next to him for dear life. Jamie sighed and pried the pillow away from him and shook him by the shoulder slowly.

"Kurt, it's me, Jamie. Wake up."

Kurt shot up in his bed, breathing heavily. He looked over to Jamie and breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god, it's you."

"You okay?" she asked worriedly, still holding his pillow in her arms. He nodded, obviously disoriented, and rubbed his eyes. He threw off his blankets and stood up, arms folded, facing the light from the window that had already begun to drench the room.

"Today is the day."

"Indeed," Jamie mused. "Have you concocted your plan for this evening, yet?"

Kurt turned to her and shook his head. "No, no I haven't," he admitted sheepishly.

"Do you want me to call my cousin to give me her tickets? I mean, she'll give them to us—"

"—Watching his concert like that again won't do anything. It needs to be something big. A huge, celebratory bang, you know? This needs to _prove _to him that…that I still love him, Jamie. I can't just sit down there and watch his concert. I'll just be idle and all of that nonsense, singing along—" he stopped, mouth opening; his eyes widening in realization. "Wait—I have an idea."

A smile curled upon Jamie's lips. "Shoot."

He raised a speculative finger. "We could…try and sneak backstage."

The smile on Jamie's face faltered immediately. "Wait, what? Isn't that a bit…dangerous?"

"I could call Dani to call Duke and ask him to let us backstage."

Jamie frowned. "Do you really think Duke will let you backstage? I mean, I think he wants to watch out for his client and all of that stuff, like I am doing with you."

"Dani could convince him."

"They really are dating, aren't they?" she laughed.

"You seem to be taking this quite well," Kurt snorted, pulling out his phone.

"Well, I am a bit down that I didn't get to know the guy—I mean he is very good-looking, but all-in-all…" she pondered, milling thoughts over in her head. "Anyway, yeah, try calling Danielle."

Kurt nodded and immediately dialed Danielle's number; the other side ringing. "Thank god; she probably doesn't have a class right now."

"_Hello? Kurt?" _Danielle's voice floated out of the phone tiredly. "_You're in Chicago now, aren't you? What's your grand master plan?_"

"Can you call Duke for me?"

"_Wait, what, why?" _she asked, her interest piquing.

Kurt took a deep breath and let it out immediately. "I need him to let me backstage."

He swore he could hear her drop her phone and pick it up quickly again. _Wow, that's a terrible habit._ "Danielle, are you still alive? Is your _phone _still alive?"

"_Yes, yes, yes, it's a trooper—are you _serious_? It's going to be difficult to convince him, I mean he's really watching over Blaine like a hawk now and doesn't want my brother to go a-wol, bat-shit crazy, and honestly, I don't want him to, either. What are you planning to do?"_

"Something he did for me a few days ago."

"_You are such a copycat_," Danielle snorted. "_Just kidding; in all honesty, that's really brave of you, and that does sound like a very good idea. Just be careful. Hold on, I shall call you back in a second. I'll call good ol' Duke and let him know that you're going to 'break-in'."_

"_Au revoir_ until then, Dan," Kurt grinned. With that, they both hung up and Kurt tossed his iPhone onto his bed. "She's calling Duke right now."

"Shall we plan your outfit for tonight?"

"Yes, we shall."

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Congress Theater<strong>_, _**Chicago, Illinois**_

Duke was running back and forth across the stage and backstage, shouting and yelling at people as they continued to set up the stage. _Crazy job, crazy job making me a crazy man_. He ran over to the sound booth and saw Junie there, giving him an amused look. "What?" he asked loudly.

"Calm down, Duke, calm down," she snorted. "Everything's going smoothly."

He plopped down on a plastic chair next to her and sighed, folding his arms over his chest; putting his Yankees cap over his eyes. "I know. I'm just nervous."

She stared at him indignantly. "_You're _not the one performing tonight. _Blaine_ is. So you shouldn't have to worry your little head about a thing, Whitely."

"Thank you, Mama Junie."

"Don't you dare call me that, you make me sound ancient."

"You are. You're like, nearly forty."

"Fuck you," she laughed, holding up her middle finger to his face. "Anyway…take a breather. Go outside or something. _Chill_."

"Alright, I'll do just that. Where's Blaine, by the way?"

"I'm not his manager," Junie whistled, turning back to the mixing table. Duke shot up and ran for the front of the stage, where Blaine was sitting amongst the many crewmembers walking back and forth, playing with his keyboard. Sighing in relief, he ran up to Blaine and tapped him on the shoulder.

Blaine turned around quickly. "Oh! Hi, Duke. Wait…are you okay, man?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Duke fanned himself, leaning on Blaine's chair. Blaine smirked and went back to practicing. "Anyway, are you ready for tonight?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"I heard it's going to be another sold-out show."

Blaine stared at him, his fingers still flying through the keyboard keys. "Yeah. Another reason why I'm kinda nervous, but we just played Madison Square Garden."

Duke stared at his friend, marveling at Blaine's new, positive attitude. He frowned. "Okay, one more question: are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm perfectly fine," Blaine scoffed, looking back at the keyboard. Duke rolled his eyes and turned off the keyboard. "Hey!"

"Ever since we deleted and blocked Kurt's number you've been acting really weird. Rather, since David came to visit, you've been acting weirder."

"Are you questioning my happiness? That's a bit weird, isn't it?"

"You're not happy."

"Oh, shut up, Duke," Blaine breathed, turning the keyboard on again. Duke turned it off.

"I think you should call Kurt back," he said suddenly.

Blaine slammed the keys and gave Duke a pained expression. "Stop it, Duke."

"I'm being serious here. You could fix this," Duke snapped. "It's so weird…you're being…fake-happy. I don't know another word for that. You're _feigning _happiness, that's it. Feigning."

"Just let me practice, Duke," Blaine whispered. Duke rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I'm sorry I even asked," he muttered. He patted Blaine on the shoulder, and walked backstage. "Practice, Blaine, practice!" he shouted behind him.

"I am already!" Blaine snapped back. Duke grumbled to himself and sat down next to Junie again, who snorted at the sight of him.

"Oh. What happened to Blaine?"

"He's pretending to be happy again, June."

"Hasn't he been doing that for ages?" Junie said sadly. "Let him be."

Duke scowled. "It's really getting to me. It's not like him to…you know, do this."

"It was Kurt," Junie responded simply. "You and I and everyone here know it. He knows it. He just won't admit it. Seriously, deleting and blocking Kurt Hummel's number isn't going to do anything. Knowing him, if he really loves Blaine, Mr. Pavarotti is going to do everything in his power to get back with him."

"Well, it's been three goddamn years, Junie, the boy better prove it now or else Blaine's going to go off his rocker."

"Blaine? No, he's a level-minded young man," she scoffed. "He'd never go crazy. He'd just…become a shell, I guess."

"More of a shell than he is now?"

"Probably."

Duke's phone began to ring loudly, and muttering to himself, he held a finger up to Junie and looked at it. _Danielle Anderson_. Relieved, he answered it. "It's Dani," he mouthed to Junie, whose mouth formed a little 'o' and she grinned slyly.

"_Duke."_

"Danners."

"_Are you around my brother?" _she asked with a whisper.

"Why are you whispering? No one can hear you, and no, Blaine's on stage practicing."

"_Oh, okay, good," _she said, her voice going back to its normal volume. "_Alright. I just wanted to let you know that Kurt Hummel is in Chicago. Right now."_

Duke's eyes widened, and he stood up, walking deeper backstage where no one was. "Wait, what? Are you serious?"

"_No, I'm a magical teapot fairy calling you to grant you three wishes. Yes, I'm being serious,"_ Danielle exclaimed.

_Oh, god, this is why I like her so much_, Duke thought bemusedly. "Okay…uhm…_why_?"

"_He called me and asked me for a favor_…_to ask of you_."

"If it's to see Blaine right now, I don't think so," Duke mumbled into the receiver. "I mean, I would love for him to—"

"_Not now, I mean…he wants to come backstage during the concert."_

"Back_stage_? Are you kidding me?"

"_Yes—I mean, no, I'm not kidding you, and yes he wants to go backstage."_

"This is going to be the moment, is it?" Duke asked, his face brightening.

"_Indeed, Dukey."_

"Don't call me that name," Duke groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Derpelle."

"_I like that name."_

"And I like you," Duke teased. He heard her laugh on the other line, and his smile widened. "Anyway…tell him that I'll let him. Around six, an hour after the concert starts, and forty-five minutes before it ends. Sounds like a good time, because…" Duke rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a set list. "He's performing an Adele cover."

"_Alright. I've got to go, last class of the day. I miss you_," Danielle said gently.

"I miss you too, Derpelle."

"_Oh, fuck you._"

"I thought you liked 'Derpelle'?"

"_I was being sarcastic_."

"Didn't detect it," Duke laughed. "Okay, bye, Dani."

"_Bye, Duke_."

He hung up his phone and put it in his pocket, grinning like a madman.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Congress Plaza Hotel<strong>_, _**Chicago, Illinois**_

Kurt grabbed at his phone as soon as it rang. "Hello?" he breathed.

"_Operation Concert Break-In is a-go, Kurtsie_," she said firmly. "_You better not mess this up, okay? At about six o'clock, the guards will let you in the back._"

"Thank you Danielle, thank you so much," Kurt said hoarsely, his heart beginning to thump crazily. "I can't thank you enough."

"_When you and Blaine are happy, that'll be a sufficient 'thank you'_," she said brightly. "_Well, I must go. And Kurt, please. For the love of all that is rainbows and all of that fucking jazz, please do _not _mess this up. Or chicken out. This may be your last chance, okay?" _

Kurt took a deep breath. "I won't. Thank you, Danielle."

"_Bye, Kurtsie._"

"Bye, Dani."

He hung up his cell-phone and gave Jamie a grin.

"It's a-go."

* * *

><p>Duke stared at his phone and bit his lip. He looked behind him, hearing Blaine's fingers spin through the keyboard, melodies flowing out rapidly. The crew was running around and around fixing things and sorting out the layout of the stage. He tucked his phone back in his pocket and hurried back to Junie, who was already relaxing and drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola.<p>

"Kurt's coming."

She nearly spit out her soda. "Wait, what?"

"Shhh, don't be so loud!" Duke exclaimed, covering her mouth. Junie gulped down her soda and frowned at him.

"Mr. Pavarotti has arrived," she said quietly. "Is this another one of Danielle's jokes? Because this isn't funny—"

"No. Kurt literally called her up to ask."

"Don't do it. Not tonight," Junie warned, standing up to put her bottle in the miniature fridge by her mixing table.

"But you just said—" Duke said, stumbling through his words. "You just said that 'oh, Hummel should prove it' and all of that stuff—"

"If tonight ends up shitty, then it'll be our fault. Well, you, Dani, and Kurt's fault, but mine too, now, because I know about it!" Junie hissed, looking around to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation. "Can't Kurt just…wait until tomorrow?"

"It's now or never, June," Duke said sternly. "Either he does it or not, because if not, Blaine needs to move the fuck on now."

"Just…be careful. Look at your choices, D," she said carefully, patting his shoulder.

Junie walked further backstage to meet up with the other members of the sound crew. Duke sat there, face buried in his hands, Junie, Dani, and Blaine's voices all floating around in his head. _Decisions, decisions, and _more _decisions _– he always had to make them. He had to make them when he decided to move from public school to private school to appease his stepfather when he was in high school, stay in state for college all those years ago, he made the decision to become Blaine's manager when the younger man asked, and so much more. He was the one who decided to have Blaine go on his national tour.

He wanted to make his best friend comfortable, and knowing that he just allowed Kurt Hummel to interrupt Blaine in the middle of the second concert of his national tour made him rethink his decisions.

* * *

><p><strong>2016  summer  
>Los Angeles, California <strong>

_Blaine and Duke sat in Starbucks across from each other on the plush couches in the back of the coffee shop, waiting for Danielle to come back with their drinks. _

"_Blaine, it's good to finally see you come out of the apartment," Duke said tentatively and nervously, looking at Blaine who merely sighed and kept on staring at the floor. _

"_Yeah."_

"_You can't do this forever, Blainers," Duke said suddenly. "You can't just mope around your apartment for days on end. He wanted to move forward and go on with his career; you should too. It's only fair."_

"_It's not fair that he did so by leaving me here," Blaine said pathetically. Duke stared at him. _

"_You and your sister are so alike," he said bluntly. _

"_Hell no," Danielle snorted, putting the tray of coffees down on the table. She sat next to her brother and turned to face him. "Blaine."_

"_What?"_

"_You're in public. Out of the house. Now is not the time to brood in despair," she snapped. "Let's live a little, alright?"_

_Blaine grumbled to himself and picked up his medium drip, sipping it delicately. "Thank you, guys," he mumbled to them suddenly. _

"_I'm your sister, Blaine. I'm obligated to help," she said gently, patting his shoulder._

"_I'm your manager and friend," Duke pointed out. Blaine let out a small chuckle._

"_You laughed!" Danielle exclaimed. Blaine frowned and stuck his tongue out at her, continuing to drink his coffee. _

"_No, I cried."_

"_Whatever."_

"_I'm going to go the restroom," Blaine sighed, standing up. He put his cup down on the table and walked towards the bathroom area, leaving Danielle and Duke to talk to each other. _

"_Thanks for getting him out of that damn apartment," Duke said thankfully, giving Danielle a thumbs-up._

"_He's my brother. I didn't want to…leave him there like that. Our parents didn't have the courage to come here themselves to comfort him, because they really don't care. Well, at least I know my dad doesn't. My mom's always in the middle of things. Did you know that he and Kurt had color-coded mugs?"_

"_Yeah, Blaine would always bring the white ones with him to the studio and meetings. When Kurt tagged along, he always had the blue ones."_

"_I'm so glad I didn't hand Blaine a blue one when I made him some hot chocolate." _

"_Hot chocolate seems to be his number-one comfort drink."_

"_Hot chocolate with rainbow marshmallows. This tradition started when we were kids. Some kids were messing with him at school one time, and I was in kindergarten when I gave him that first mug of cocoa to alleviate his stress and anger. Of course, my mom made it and I added the marshmallows and awesomeness." _

"_The added awesomeness," Duke deadpanned. "Child, you are crazy."_

"_No," Danielle rolled her eyes. "I'm awesome."_

_Blaine sat back down next to them, and they finally ceased their conversation about mugs, Kurt, and the Anderson siblings' childhood. _

"_Blaine," Duke began, "I have a proposition for you, which is why I'm glad you finally got out of your apartment." _

"_What is it?" Blaine sighed loudly, leaning back on the couch chair._

"_Would you like to sign on with Sony or Capitol Records?"_

_Blaine's eyes widened. "No, you pick!" he said quickly, his face reddening. "Wait, they want to pick me up?"_

"_Yup!" Duke exclaimed. "Sony or Capitol, you pick!"_

"_Sony!" Blaine spluttered. _

"_Are you sure?" _

"_Yeah. That would be…that would be amazing." _

_Danielle smiled at him, winking. Duke smiled back. This would probably be Blaine's first stepping-stone to recovery._

_It was the only decision Blaine fervently made himself in Duke's presence. From then on, Duke would always help him. _

* * *

><p><strong>Present-Day  Chicago **

Duke picked up his phone and called the theater security.

"_Hello?_"

"Desmond Whitely, here. Tighten the security backstage, please. No one but staff is allowed to enter. Spread the news to everyone backstage. No exceptions."

* * *

><p><strong>The Congress Theater, before 5PM<strong>

Blaine was jumping up and down in his dressing room, trying to warm himself up. He had his laptop propped open next to him, Danielle sitting there, chin on the palm of her hand as she watched her brother get ready via Skype. He was trying his best to forget his conversation with David from earlier in the day.

"_You look very dapper_," she said, smiling.

"_Dani!" _a voice shouted in the background. Blaine turned to face the camera, and saw Danielle's roommate, Arielle, waving at him. "_Oh my god, hi, Blaine!"_

"Hi, Arielle."

"_Break a leg tonight! You'll be awesome, I know it!"_ she squealed. Danielle rolled her eyes and pushed her friend out of the way. The two girls both started laughing.

"_Anyway,"_ Danielle began, still giggling. "_You okay, Bee?_"

"I've been better, but better than yesterday."

"_We'll be watching the LiveStream of the concert once it starts. I've got your website open and the stream is loading."_

"Thanks, Danners," Blaine grinned, putting his fedora on his head. "Okay, one last outfit check." He backed away from the computer and turned around. Danielle nodded in approval.

"_You look amazing, Blaine."_

Blaine took a deep breath and smiled at her. "Thanks, sis. By the way, did you see something about Kurt in the news…?" he asked hesitantly.

"_Um…Blaine…_" Danielle began nervously. "_I have to tell you something._"

"What is it?" Blaine asked curiously, cocking his head sideways.

"Bye, Dani!" Duke exclaimed walking into the room and pushing down the laptop screen. Blaine's jaw dropped and he stared at Duke angrily. "What?" he asked, shrugging. "You're on in ten minutes."

"I was talking to Dani. I thought you were gonna come in and say hello to her."

"I talked to her earlier and…come on," Duke said. There was something in the tone of his voice that confused Blaine, but he complied and the two walked out of the dressing room and into the hallway leading to the main stage.

"I'm excited. How does it look out there?" Blaine asked excitedly. Duke grinned at him.

"It looks amazing. Full house, dude!" Duke exclaimed, putting his arm over Blaine's shoulders, giving him a half-hug. "I'm proud of you, Blaine."

"Thank you. For everything, Duke," Blaine said quietly as they finally reached the stage door. Blaine could hear the muted sounds of the screaming audience, and his heart fluttered. "Oh my god, I don't think I can do this."

Several security guards and staff members came to wish Blaine 'good luck,' and he smiled and nodded, shaking their hands graciously.

"You can do this," Duke said confidently, putting his hands on Blaine's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Breathe. Pour all your emotion into your words. They're your words, Blaine, and no one can take them away from you. You were put into this profession for a reason. You fucking sold out MSG, _and _the Congress Theater. You can do this, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine beamed and Duke pushed open the stage door, and they walked backstage. There was a loud buzz of excitement emitting from the outside, and Junie, who gave him a thumbs-up, handed Blaine his acoustic guitar and a headset. The twenty-five year old jumped up and down again and closed his eyes. He exhaled loudly and hurried with his tech people to the middle of the backstage, where he would enter and start singing behind a paper-thin curtain that only showed his silhouette.

"_I'm turning on your microphone in approximately one minute_," Junie announced through the headset.

"June…"

"_You can do this, Blaine_," Duke exclaimed. "_Don't think about anything that'll distract you, and you'll do fabulously."_

"_Blow the candles out…looks like a solo tonight_," Blaine whispered. "_But I think I'll be alright_."

His microphone flicked on, and he strummed his guitar. The beautiful note reverberated across the theater, and the screams and cheers increased tenfold.

The lights beat down on him, like an old friend.

"Good evening, Chicago!"

* * *

><p><strong>The Congress Plaza Hotel, 5PM<strong>

"Kurt!" Jamie exclaimed, knocking on the bathroom door. Kurt looked up from the sink and saw his reflection in the mirror, slightly shaking. "Are you okay? You've been in there for a while, and we still need to flag down a cab to get to the theater…"

Kurt let out a breath and muttered: _I can do this. I can most certainly do this. _He clapped his hands together and inhaled and exhaled deeply. "I'm coming! Just…just prepping up, you know! Jitters and all of that!" he said loudly, double-checking his hair and his outfit.

Junie jiggled the doorknob, and unlocked the door. She leaned against the doorway, hair clipped up in a bun, peering at Kurt over the top of her glasses. Kurt sighed and looked at her sheepishly, biting his lower lip.

"Come on, boss," she said gently, grabbing his wrist. He sighed, and then complied as she pulled him out of the bathroom.

Kurt grabbed his bag off the hotel room table and he and Jamie hurried out of the hotel room. Before he closed the door, he hesitated to walk back in, but muttered, "_fuck_," under his breath, and ran out behind Jamie.

They made it to the elevator, and Jamie was already pressing the button impatiently. "Oh, damn it!" she exclaimed. Finally, the elevator _dinged _and they hurried in, riding in it with a small family.

"This is a little awkward," Kurt whispered to Jamie, who chortled. The father of the family, a tall, burly man, gave the two of them a glare and Kurt and Jamie's smiles faltered and they looked to the floor.

"Mommy, are those two people boyfriend and girlfriend?" the daughter piped up loudly. Kurt and Jamie attempted to repress their snorts. "'Cause they look pretty together."

"Uhm…I don't know, sweetheart," the mother said gently, patting her daughter's head. She gave Jamie and Kurt an apologetic glance. "Sorry about that."

"She's a precocious little one, isn't she?" Kurt asked uneasily, already getting antsy. The little girl quirked an eyebrow and looked at Kurt blankly.

"What's prekioshus?" she asked.

"'Smart,' honey," the father said, nodding in approval. "Are you two dating?" he asked curiously.

"I play for the other team," Kurt whispered loudly. The two parents nodded, smiling.

And that was when the girl pressed all of the buttons in the elevator.

"Annabelle, no, honey! You don't do that!" her mother scolded, pulling her away from the buttons. Kurt stared at them in horror as the elevator proceeded to stop at every floor—and they had just left the tenth floor.

"I am _so _sorry!" the mother groaned, chastising her daughter. The father rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"She's a very…hyper child," he explained. Kurt nodded understandingly.

"My…ex's sister was the same when she was little."

_Ding. _Seventh floor.

"I see."

_Ding. _Sixth floor.

"Oh my god," Jamie grumbled through her gritted teeth. Kurt nudged her side and they stood up straight. Kurt continued to chat up a storm with the father.

"My younger brother is gay," he said, nodding. Kurt pursed his lips and nodded.

_This is awkward._

"Can I get his number?" he joked, laughing nervously. The two parents laughed along with him and Jamie attempted not to make an inappropriate comment.

_Ding. _Fourth floor.

* * *

><p>Blaine's concert was already in full swing, and the entire audience was on their feet, singing along.<p>

Duke kept his walkie-talkie close to his side. It was almost six.

* * *

><p>"This is a very slow elevator," Jamie mused, balancing on the balls of her feet.<p>

"It's like we're falling down, down, down, down!" the little girl squealed, clapping her hands excitedly.

Jamie bit back a laugh. "Isn't that a Jay Sean song?"

"Yes," Kurt giggled. "How old is she?"

"She just turned four. We're here visiting her grandma and grandpa," the mother explained.

_Ding. _Second floor.

"Wait…aren't you Kurt Hummel?" the mother gasped, finally realizing it. Kurt and Jamie's eyes widened and they looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

"Yes…yes, I am," he said uneasily, trying to keep his cool.

"And you're here to see Blaine Anderson."

"Wait, the singer?" the dad asked.

"Yes, please don't tell anyone—" Kurt begged.

_Ding. _First floor.

"We won't!" the mother exclaimed as Kurt and Jamie dashed out of the elevator, and out of the hotel as quickly as possible. "Go and get your man, Kurt Hummel!"

"I hate people," Jamie gasped as they arrived at the street corner. "HEY, TAXI!" she shouted, waving her arm in the air. A yellow cab halted in front of them and they thrust the door open, sitting inside immediately. "Congress Theater, please."

"They were relatively nice," Kurt reasoned, settling in the backseat as the taxi zoomed down the road.

"Very nosy, though," Jamie grumbled as she pulled out her compact and double-checked her makeup. "You've got Danielle's number, right? The concert started already, shit!"

"I know, but Dani said that Duke told her that we should be there by six."

"What time is it now?" Kurt asked, pulling out his phone. "Five-thirty. Oh my god, that elevator took almost all of our time—"

"Your phone is, like, five minutes behind mine. It says thirty-five on my phone," Jamie groaned. "Cabbie, can you please step on it?"

"Shhh, Jamie, we're not in New York!" Kurt muttered, nudging her on the side. The cabbie muttered something about '_bitchy customers_,' and stepped on the gas pedal. Kurt resisted the urge to throw his phone at the back of the cabbie's head, but immediately thought against it. "_Thank you_," he said with sickening sweetness as the cabbie turned a sharp corner and they slid against the right-hand passenger door.

"Fucking hell, couldn't we have found a nicer driver?" Kurt muttered to Jamie as they adjusted themselves. The cabbie halted in front of the large, beautiful Congress Theater a minute later.

"Could you bring us around the back?" Jamie asked more politely.

The cabbie turned to face them. "Y'know, there's a big concert going on inside there, and whenever a concert goes on, they tighten the security and all of that shit."

"We have access, _promise_," Kurt said in earnest, giving him a pleading look. The cabbie let out a sigh and started the engine again, driving them close to the backstage door of the Congress. Jamie and Kurt thanked him sincerely, tossing him a twenty-dollar bill, and without waiting for their change, they hurried out of the taxi and towards the backstage door in the cool summer evening.

"This is it," Kurt breathed, gripping Jamie's hand tightly. She squeezed back as they finally arrived at the door, where a security guard in a generic blue uniform stood, quirking an eyebrow at their presence. There was already a small gathering of fans waiting outside the backdoor, and he was obviously making an effort to keep them out.

"Hi," Kurt nodded. The guard stared at them. "Um…we were supposed to be allowed backstage. I'm Kurt Hummel, and this is Jamie Lewis. We're…"

"Friends of Duke, Blaine Anderson, or Danielle Anderson. Yeah, we get that a lot. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to wait along with these young ladies and gentlemen," the man said sternly, gesturing towards the small group, who began to whisper and buzz excitedly when they saw Kurt and Jamie.

"You don't understand," Jamie began. "Duke said we would be allowed backstage around this time—"

"That's what they all say!" the security guard said loudly. "Now, please, go and wait with the rest of the people." Kurt and Jamie gave him dirty looks and turned away.

"What the fuck?" Kurt said through gritted teeth, pulling out his phone. He dialed Danielle immediately.

No answer. No ring-tone. Her phone was off. Kurt shoved his phone back in his cardigan pocket and kicked the nearest trashcan near him and sat down on top of it, burying his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.

He didn't give a shit that Jamie was rubbing his back gently. He didn't give a shit that his ex-boyfriend's fans—who obviously knew who he was—were staring at him in awe and wonder. He _had _to get into the theater. He could hear Blaine's voice blasting from within, echoing against the building concrete. _Kurt had to be in there. _

"_I have to get in there,"_ he blubbered, shaking. Jamie scooted closer and gave him a hug.

"We will. It's not six o'clock yet, so you still have time!" she said, trying to reason with him. A girl in a flannel and denim shorts walked up to them nervously and tapped them both on the shoulder, looking at the guard and then back to them nervously.

"We could help you guys get in," the girl said quietly as Kurt and Jamie looked up to face her. "I mean, we want to get in, too, but we know who you are, Mr. Hummel."

"Call me Kurt. And wait…isn't that flannel from my fall collection?"

The girl blushed. "Yes, I'm a really big fan of you and Blaine. So…my idea…"

"It would be wonderful to hear," Kurt said politely.

"I have a skateboard, and if we get some of us to distract the guard, I could open the door and you could roll in discreetly, or, um, quickly. Whichever word works. Can you ride a skateboard?"

Kurt thought for a moment. Duke had taught him how to ride a surfboard back in California, but then, he hadn't gone surfing in four years. He bit his lip. "I can ride a surfboard, and all it takes is balance, right? I can try."

Jamie smiled at him. "Yeah, sounds good. What's our diversion going to be?"

"Can you feign a faint? It's kind-of humid, so I guess it'll make sense…?" the girl asked. Jamie thought about it and nodded. "I'll get my brother to open the door, then you can roll in. If you run, he might be able to catch you, and wheels are much faster, so…"

"Got it," Kurt said. "What time is it, by the way?"

"Five fifty-five."

"Let's start."

Jamie stood up and walked past the guard a minute later, wobbling in her shoes. She leaned over a bit, holding the wall for support. The guard hurried over to her.

"Are you okay, miss?"

"I…I'm not feeling well," Jamie rasped, swooning a bit, and she fell to the ground, limp. The guard panicked and pulled out his walkie-talkie.

"GO!" the girl shouted. Two of the fans pinned the guard down, and Jamie stood up and ran to the door, pulling it open. Kurt rolled in quickly, and they shut the door behind him. Jamie and the other fans ran away quickly to the front of the building, where a large crowd of paparazzi was gathered, and blended in easily. They saw the guard curse loudly and stomp back, yelling into his walkie-talkie.

Kurt wobbled a little bit on the skateboard and jumped off it, pushing it aside and bounded for the backstage area. He felt a slightly searing pain in his ankle, but he ignored it. Several guards were already on his tail, and after years of being chased around by bullies in high school, and joining the track and field club at UCLA, he was one step ahead of them. He threw a door open, and found he was close to a dead end, and dashed back down the hallway. The guards shouted something and he found two more in front of him.

There were two more hallways to his left and right, and one said _Stage Entrance_. He breathed heavily, panicking, not knowing what to do. _Stage Entrance hallway. Stage Entrance hallway. _

"Don't move, sir. Come quietly with us, and we'll let you go. You aren't even supposed to be here—"

Kurt bolted for the _Stage Entrance_ hallway, and pushed himself further, and pushed the doors open.

He found Junie, Blaine's sound person, and Duke, staring at him, eyes wide in shock. Kurt slammed the doors shut in the security guards' faces, heavily panting, locking the door. He fell to his knees.

"Blaine…I…need to see…Blaine…" he grunted.

"Kurt, you're not supposed to b—"

"Danielle told me you were going to let me in by six, and now it's—"

"_Now, this little song is by a wonderful woman by the name of Adele. She is my idol, and is perfect and every way. Well, it was originated by Bob Dylan in 1997, but I love her version, so that's the version I'm going to play._"

"Shit," Duke muttered. "I forgot to tell her…"

"Tell her _what_?" Kurt said loudly, eyes slightly bulging. "I'm going out there. I'm going to talk to Blaine—" He stood up and walked towards the stage, but Duke stopped him.

"He's performing!" Duke shouted. "You can't just go out there—you're going to freak him out, Kurt!"

* * *

><p>Blaine heard an odd, shout-like buzz coming from his headset, but he started to play the piano softly, the chords of Adele's <em>Make You Feel My Love <em>echoing in the stadium. The audience quieted down a little bit.

"_You can't just go out there!" _he heard Duke shout. He quirked an eyebrow in confusion, but kept on playing.

_When the rain is blowing in your face  
>And the whole world is on your case<br>I could offer you a warm embrace  
>To make you feel my love<em>

* * *

><p>"I was told once in theater class back in UCLA to <em>fight for my stage<em>, Desmond Whitely!" Kurt shouted. "In this case, the stage is Blaine and me's relationship, and I need to fix it!"

Duke stared at him quietly. Kurt wasn't dressed like he normally was—he adorned a simple, white v-neck t-shirt, a dark cardigan, and tight jeans, and his hair was stuck up on-end, and his black eye was still shining in the dim light. Dried tear tracks were visible on his face. Plus, he was limping.

"You have got to let me out there," Kurt said, tears forming in his eyes. "This may be my only chance, Duke. I love him. I love him, and this is the only way I'm going to get him to listen."

* * *

><p><em>When the evening shadows<br>And the stars appear  
>And there is no - one there<br>To dry your tears  
>I could hold you<br>For a million years  
>To make you feel my love<em>

He heard one of the backstage headsets shut off, but he disregarded it, pouring his heart and soul into the song.

And, that was when he heard the voice.

"_I love him."_

* * *

><p>Duke stared at Kurt, his gaze becoming softer. He turned on his heel and rummaged through a box. "June, add another microphone to the mixer. Do it. Now!" He pulled out a microphone and handed it to Kurt.<p>

"Don't mess this up, Hummel. The world is watching you. We're on a LiveStream."

"I've messed this up once before, and I don't intend on messing it up ever again," Kurt said quietly.

"Get ready, Kurt, he's about to finish the next verse."

Kurt waited in the wings behind Blaine, and saw him singing smoothly and beautifully on the piano. He took a deep breath and sang.

* * *

><p><em>I know you haven't made your mind up yet<br>But I would never do you wrong  
>I've known it from the moment that we met<br>No doubt in my mind  
>Where you belong<br>I'd go hungry,  
>I'd go black and blue.<br>I'd go crawling down the avenue  
>No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do<br>To make you feel my love_

Blaine turned around, and stopped playing as soon as the voice finished the verse. Kurt appeared behind him, slightly limping, and the entire audience gasped and broke out into whispers.

"Blaine," Kurt said loudly into the microphone. Blaine took a deep, shaky breath and stared at him.

"Kurt."

"You're…you're probably wondering why I'm here, and all of that."

Blaine choked back a sob and stood up, looking at him. Kurt walked closer to him, in front of the audience, in front of the world—in front of the judging universe, and his heart beat like a fluttering drum.

"Blaine Anderson, I've been a total dickhead," Kurt breathed into the microphone. "Yeah, world, you heard me. I've been a dickhead, not knowing what to do with myself, not knowing that I had the most perfect person in front of me the entire time."

"Kurt—" Blaine began, not knowing what to do. "What…"

"I love you, Blaine Anderson, and…I was stupid. I wasn't being a man. I let myself be misguided. I…I love you. I came all the way from New York to tell you I love you. You probably didn't remember Tuesday, because you were drunk, but I told you that I love you. I bet I wasn't supposed to say that. You're going to have to get your publicist to cover that," Kurt laughed weakly. "But it's all true. Blaine, I was stupid. I was foolish and indecisive, and too crazy to realize that I should have been with you the whole time. And, if you'll have me, I'd be glad to be a part of an amazing relationship I wouldn't have left in the first place.

"You're probably going to think I'm stark raving mad, and I probably am, judging by my appearance and my slightly injured ankle, but I'm going to ask this one, simple question: Blaine Anderson, will you have me back?"

Kurt took Blaine's hands and pulled him closer.

"You're fucking crazy," Blaine rasped. "All the way to Chicago, just for little old me?"

"I love you," was all Kurt could manage. He turned off his microphone. "And I'm saying this truthfully. Sincerely. With no tequila or fettuccine involved."

"Aw, it would have been nice if you had brought a plate of fettuccine from Savore," Blaine said quietly, joking.

And that was when they kissed.

It was like their first kiss all over again. Their lips melded together, and moved at a steady rhythm—but the only difference was that Kurt turned his head slightly to deepen the kiss.

After what seemed like a lifetime, they parted.

The entire audience erupted into cheers.

Blaine gazed at him, taking in the fact that Kurt was actually _here_, _here in Chicago. With me. Flew all the way here, and burst into my concert…for me._

"_He has to prove it, Duke._"

And then he felt a quick slap to his face.

"And _that_, Blaine James Alexander Anderson, was for deleting and blocking my number when I tried to reason with you!" Kurt said, laughing through his tears, his microphone back on. Blaine touched his cheek gingerly, laughing and crying at the same time and threw his arms around Kurt's neck, hugging him tightly. The audience clapped even louder.

_Now, there's the Kurt I know. _

"I love you, Kurt," Blaine whispered into his ear. "And here I was, thinking that you wouldn't do a crazy thing like this."

"Go and finish your song. We can talk afterwards," Kurt said gently, touching Blaine's cheek. He turned on his heel to walk backstage.

"No," Blaine said suddenly. He held his microphone to his mouth. "Sing with me."

The audience responded positively, squealing and cheering. Kurt hesitated.

"No, this is your concert, Blaine…"

"Come here, Hummel."

Blaine held out his hand and Kurt took it, and they sat next to each other on the grand piano, and after a short intro, they sang together in perfect harmony.

_The storms are raging  
>On the rolling sea<br>And on the highway of regret  
>Though winds of change<br>Are blowing wild and free  
>You ain't seen nothing<br>Like me yet_

"_I could make you happy…"_ Kurt sang.

"_Make your dreams come true,_" Blaine responded. "_Nothing that I wouldn't do_…"

"_Go to the ends of the Earth for you_," Kurt laughed, leaning into Blaine's shoulder gently.

"_To make you feel my love,_" Blaine whispered as he began playing the final chords.

"_To make you feel my love_," they sang together.

* * *

><p>"Oh my god," Duke said, wiping his eyes. Junie patted his shoulder.<p>

"You made a pretty good decision. I think you should call off the guards, though…" she snorted, pointing towards the door, through which the guards were still trying to get through.

Duke felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he picked it up.

"_DESMOND. DESMOND. DID YOU SEE THAT? I CANNOT UNSEE THAT. MY BROTHER AND KURT KISSED! THANK YOU SO MUCH!" _he heard Danielle scream in the background. He held the phone away from his ear for a moment and flushed red.

"Actually…I didn't let him backstage, he snuck in…" he mumbled. Silence.

"_You're a dick. But it worked out, anyway_," Danielle laughed. "_Thank god. Thank god, they both look incredibly happy and sappy and—"_

"You're not mad at me?"

"_No. You're kind-of a genius."_

"Um…"

"_Oh, Duke."_

"Danielle."

"_You are going to have to explain this to me later, or else there will be consequences. And there will be already, because I could tell by Kurt's tousled look and all of that nonsense, you changed the initial plans. Thank you, again. I expect you to visit me before my collegiate graduation,"_ she said happily, and hung up the phone. Duke put it back in his pocket and smiled, resisting the urge to cry happy tears of joy.

"Looks like Mr. Pavarotti proved it," Junie sighed.

_Yup, he definitely proved it. Oh, how I love plotting_, Duke thought to himself, grinning and applauding.

* * *

><p>Kurt and Jamie ended up changing over to the Sheraton Chicago that night. Jamie had her own room, and Kurt bunked in Blaine's, of course. The concert had ended with a bang, and Kurt introduced Blaine to the fans that had helped him get backstage. Jamie and Duke shared a few drinks, and talked like friends down at the hotel bar. The hotel tightened their security, and no one from the press was allowed to enter.<p>

Up in Blaine's suite, Blaine and Kurt ordered Italian room service—Kurt, the spaghetti, and Blaine, the fettuccine. Kurt had his ankle prepped up on a pillow with a compress on it.

"You came all the way to Chicago just to tell me you love me," Blaine said amusedly, looking at Kurt. Kurt flushed furiously. "And injured yourself in the process."

"Hey, I wanted to prove it to you. I knew that a simple phone call wouldn't do," he responded, swatting the air. "You blocked my number."

"You reprimanded me for that already, Mr. Hummel," Blaine sighed. "Really, a phone call and concert invasion? I thought you were the creative one between the two of us."

"Really, an engagement party invasion and various songs?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Touché," Blaine grinned, holding up his glass of water. Kurt did likewise, and they toasted.

"You still have that beautiful voice," Blaine said after a minute's silence.

"You're still handsome and talented as ever," Kurt replied. Blaine scooted closer to him and moved their plates aside.

"Kurt Hummel, I love you."

"I love you too, Blaine Anderson. It just took me three fucking years to tell that to you again, and it feels so good."

"What about the press and all of that nonsense?" Blaine mused, sipping his water.

"As Duke told us a long time ago, and probably repeated to you very recently, '_don't give a shit_.' I love you, and it's going to stay that way."

"I was really waiting for you to prove it, and you really did. Running to the Plaza, the airport, the stage..."

"Oh, shut up, Blaine Anderson."

They kissed again, this time, without tequila, without crazy fiancés, without a crazy manager, without an equally crazy sister and assistant, without the press, and without the world around them.

After three long years, it was Kurt and Blaine again—not Kurt and another person. Not Blaine, alone. Kurt and Blaine.

And they both wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **There are tears. Thoughts? ;~; I'd love reviews from _all_ of you! It would mean so much! THE EPILOGUE IS GOING TO BE UP WITHIN THE NEXT TWO DAYS!

(!)

_Bonus disclaimer:_ I don't own Adele's "Make You Feel My Love." Creys. 'Tis a beautiful song.


	12. Epilogue: One Year Later

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the plot, Danielle Anderson, Anthony Marksman, Jamie Lewis, and Duke Whitely.

Enjoy. Songs to listen to while reading? Charlene Kaye's "All The Life Around" and Panic! At The Disco's "Always." An alternative? Ingrid Michaelson's "The Way I Am." Trust me, they'll set the mood. (And, I know I said two days, but I couldn't wait. dfsfsfsf)

* * *

><p><em>After three long years, it was Kurt and Blaine again—not Kurt and another person. Not Blaine, alone. Kurt and Blaine.<em>

12. **epilogue:** one year later  
>of <span>I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You<span>  
>by <em>littlemusings<em>

Balancing his comeback on the Broadway stage for the upcoming seasonal run of _Wicked _and his bourgeoning, independent fashion career was a very difficult thing to do, and much more hardcore and demanding than he expected. _Oh, get used to it. You've been doing this for nearly four years now, _he thought to himself. He would wake up early in the morning, at around six, or even five, depending on the day—and Joe Mantello's hardcore rehearsal schedule—and shower, make breakfast, eat said breakfast, dress up, and head to work: five hours at the studio, and then the rest of the afternoon was dedicated to rehearsal for _Wicked_.

He was incredibly happy when he had the weekends off. It was then he got to relax.

Usually, he would wake up in the late morning and grab a coffee at Starbucks—it was _still _nothing like the good ol' Lima Bean back in Ohio, of course—and sit there while reading the latest issue of _Vogue_ to catch up on the latest fashions. He loved to get ideas and then make them his own. He'd sit alone for hours on end, just scribbling down ideas.

But, that Saturday, he was sitting in Starbucks in the early morning, humming to himself, Grande non-fat mocha and the November 2020 edition of _Vogue_ in hand, waiting for someone.

And, that someone was his boyfriend, Blaine Anderson, who was busy with a record company meeting.

Kurt Hummel turned around to look for a seat for them to share when he recognized a mop of dyed, dark brown hair and equally chocolate eyes.

"Kurt Hummel."

"Anthony Marksman," Kurt responded, a smile creeping upon his face. He and Anthony gave each other a hug—albeit it being an awkward hug—and sat down at a table together.

"How have you been? I heard _Wicked _is coming back to the stage next week!" Anthony said enthusiastically, legs crossed, hand on one knee. He was wearing a simple, white v-neck and tight jeans. Kurt took a sip of his coffee and laughed.

"Yeah, it is. I've been fine, very fine. How about you?"

Anthony shrugged. "I guess I've been doing quite well. A lot of my work has been sold in the past few months, so I call that progress."

"Congratulations! I saw you in _Metropolitan _last week, for your latest work. Is it really going to France?"

"Yeah, crazily enough. I was really surprised when the French Prime Minister wanted to buy it. I guess he loved the color scheme of it all."

"What, maroon and maroon?" Kurt laughed.

"Oh, don't mess with me," Anthony snickered. "You really do have to admit, maroon is a very nice shade."

"Eh, purple is much better."

"They're closely-related shades!" Anthony said in defense.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Painter."

"Hey, hey, I'm the art major here."

They two laughed, looking down at their feet. "So, Anthony," Kurt began, "Been doing well? Personally…and not career-wise?"

"Well, I guess you can say that. Whatever happened last year helped me out with my work."

Kurt blushed in embarrassment. "Again…I'm sorry."

"Hey, I'm fine now, look at me," Anthony laughed. "I was an asshole to you."

"Nah. You may have thrown a wayward punch and other things...but...nah."

Anthony gave him a furtive look. "Whatever you say. I think you're just being too nice to me."

Kurt smiled. "Nah."

"Well, I've got to go." He stood up, picking up his backpack.

"Oh, alright. It was great to see you again," Kurt smiled, standing up as well. Anthony held out a hand to Kurt, and Kurt shook it firmly.

"Same here, Hummel. Hope you and Anderson are doing well," Anthony winked, walking away. Kurt smiled and sat down again, idly flipping through the pages of his magazine. Just then, he felt a little tap on his shoulder and a kiss on his cheek. Jumping in surprise, nearly spilling his coffee everywhere, he turned around to meet a pair of hazel-green eyes.

"Blaine! You scared the living crap out of me!" he laughed hysterically. He and Blaine shared a quick peck on the lips, and Blaine sat across from him, chuckling.

"Sorry, babe, but it had to be done."

Kurt gave him a suspicious glance. "You could have killed me, Anderson."

"I would never," Blaine said with mock horror, putting his hand over his heart. "Was that Anthony Marksman I just saw walk out of here?"

"Yeah, he just wanted to say hi."

"You're not thinking about going back with him to his gallery later, are you?"

"_Blaine!_"

"Joking, I'm only joking!" Blaine gasped, choking with laughter. Kurt aimed a small kick at him under the table, but Blaine caught his foot between his ankles and stuck his tongue out at Kurt playfully. "Not on my watch, Kurt."

"Well, I'll get you one of these days," Kurt grinned. Their faces were closer, and he pressed his lips against Blaine's. One or two people stared, but they honestly didn't care.

After the Congress Theater break-in, they got back together. There were, of course, mixed reviews from the public about this—but the two of them _didn't give a shit_, which was their new mantra when it came to public relations. Finn, of course, was the most vocal about his happiness.

"_Wait. So…Blaine…you guys are…together again?" Finn asked when they met up in a coffee shop in New York again. Blaine personally brought Kurt back to New York before heading to the short Canadian leg of his tour. _

_Kurt stared at his brother, obviously annoyed. He took Blaine's hand in his and held it up. "What does it look like Finn?" _

"_We're just holding hands for fun. We're in a perfectly platonic relationship," Blaine supplied, grinning. _

"_Oh, fuck you both!" Finn laughed loudly, clapping. "Finally!"_

"_We didn't kiss on stage for _nothing_, Finn!" Kurt laughed, aiming a kick at Finn, who immediately shifted in his seat to avoid it. _

"_Well, I'm glad," Finn smiled softly. "This was a long time coming. Like, three years." _

"_I'm glad, too," Kurt whispered as he put his head on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine kissed the top of his chestnut hair. _

"_At least, whenever you guys get married, I won't have to beat Blaine with a spatula. 'Cause at least I know you." _

"_Spatula…?" Blaine frowned, looking at Kurt, who bit his lip._

"_Let's just say that when Anthony and Finn didn't get along…things happened…" Kurt said uneasily, shifting in his seat._

"_Spatula."_

"_Yeah, it was funny," Finn laughed. "Quinn got mad at me for being immature and stuff, but I really didn't like the dude. He didn't like me back, too, so yeah."_

"_I'd like to hear that story one day," Blaine grinned. _

_Any color in Kurt's face drained. _"_Oh, god, please don't. It's embarrassing." _

"_Yeah, it'll be a good one to tell at_ _your engagement party one day." _

"_Oh, it's too soon for that," Kurt and Blaine said at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed. _

Burt and Carole were elated as well, and Burt gave Kurt a firm warning:

"_The next time you break this boy's heart, Kurt—I know you're my son and all—that'll be it. I'm gonna force you to move back in with Carole and I. I don't care if you're twenty-five. I'm also gonna expose all of your baby photos to the public—" _

"_DAD!"_

"_I'm only kidding, Kurt. I'm happy for you. Both you and Blaine."_

James and Maria Anderson were surprised. After watching the LiveStream of the concert, they called Blaine on Skype immediately and had a quick talk with Kurt.

"_Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, if you break my son's heart again—"_

"_Dad, calm down!" Blaine exclaimed, panicking. _

"_Kidding, kidding. Watch…watch my boy, okay?" James said softly. _

"_Hay naku, anak, here's another wedding to plan!"_

"_MOM!" _

When Kurt arrived back in New York, he got the biggest scolding from Marnie Cervico and the board—but they decided to reschedule the meeting when they found out the news about Blaine Anderson and him getting back together. Everyone in the office was looking forward to that day, anyway-the day Kurt Hummel stopped being such a workaholic and settled down with someone.

_Marnie stared at him, arms folded. _"_You're fired, Hummel."_

"_What?" Kurt gasped, shaking. Jamie clutched his hand tightly. "Please, Miss Cervico, I can explain—"_

_A grin broke across the editor-in-chief's face. _

"_Just kidding," Marnie winked. "We all knew why you skipped out, anyway. But here's a fair warning: the world of fashion waits for no one. If Anna Wintour went out of retirement and got this job back, she would have fired you in a heartbeat."_

"_I understand."_

Even though Blaine and Kurt had demanding jobs—Blaine constantly touring for half the year, and Kurt traveling to France and London during the Broadway off-season for Pavarotti, and rehearsing for _Wicked_, and reviewing scripts and scores for new shows—they had managed to make it work. They sometimes joined each other on their foreign ventures. Blaine relocated to New York, and he and Kurt now shared an apartment in Queens—they both agreed that despite their combined wealth, it would be better to just buy a cheaper, simple, yet beautiful apartment since they weren't always together. Blaine had the Navigator shipped over to the city, which made Kurt the happiest car owner in the world.

They moved in together earlier that year, around January, soon after Kurt resigned from his job at _Vogue _to focus on his independent career and Broadway, realizing that he could build his own career, and Marnie understood this. Kurt designed the entire apartment, and Blaine watched him do so with a bright smile on his face. Right now, Blaine was on a three-month break from touring in order to spend the holidays with his boyfriend.

Jamie was still Kurt's assistant, and she and Duke became good friends. Danielle and Duke, on the other hand, were still dating, and they were based in New York as well. Twenty-two year old Danielle was interning for _The New Yorker_, as a frequent columnist, and Duke still managed Blaine, of course, which he would, until Blaine died. Which didn't happen yet, obviously, so he was confident that he would be his best friend's manager forever. Danielle lived in SoHo and Duke had an apartment on the Upper East Side.

The four did try to go double dates, but they were utter fiascos. No one knew where to eat, and no one knew what movie to watch (rather, one time, for example, Kurt and Blaine wanted to catch _The Book of Mormon_ on Broadway, while Duke and Dani wanted to see whatever Final Destination movie number was playing). While Duke and Danielle maintained a healthy love-hate relationship, Kurt and Blaine worked on fixing what they had lost.

"Blaine, you're staring again," Kurt laughed. Blaine blinked and smiled, posed in an ever-familiar stance: chin on the palm of his hand, a dopey smile on his face.

"I love you. I really, really do."

Kurt sipped his coffee and responded back, sincerely, with a smug beam creeping upon his lips, "I love you, too, though I'm sensing some major déjà-vu here, Bee."

"I know, just wanted to relive that moment. You know, like the romantic I am," Blaine shrugged, still gazing into Kurt's eyes. Kurt stared back.

"Oh, please," Kurt scoffed, waving his hand with fake indifference. "I'm more romantic than you are."

"I do not concur with your statement, young man, though _'I would follow you to anywhere you travel with a rose in my teeth_,'" Blaine sang smoothly. Kurt copied his pose, and they both burst out laughing.

"Let's go before we get kicked out for eye-fucking in the middle of a coffee shop," Kurt said taking his hand. Blaine squeezed it and the both stood up together, holding hands as they walked out of the Starbucks. Some people stared at them in awe, and some women took out their cell phones to snap photos.

"I know this is all old news to you now, and you'd rather not hear about any of this anymore, but what was the one thing you didn't like about Anthony?"

"Other than his dyed hair?"

Kurt snorted. "Blaine, you gel your hair down until it's nothing but brick."

"That's different."

"You're insane."

"My insanity attracts you, then. I think that's it. That's why you flew all the way to Chicago last May."

Kurt opened the door to his Navigator. "No, really, what was the one thing you hated about him?"

"He was a terrible dancer, as evidenced by the Engagement Party Train Wreck Extravaganza that I'd like to avoid whenever we get engaged and married and all of that jazz. I would really prefer it if you didn't ask him to paint for everyone, if we ever have a party."

"Oh, god," Kurt burst out into a fit of giggles as he turned his key in the ignition. "When we get married. You just said, 'when we get married.'"

"It'll happen someday," Blaine winked.

"I don't think I want a party, probably just a date between you and me to celebrate and all of that," Kurt said brightly. "Because we all know that Danielle is going to get very fucked up again, and I don't think anyone wants her to give a drunken monologue in her underwear like on your last birthday…"

"Don't remind me, Duke had to punch a few people. I blame Junie for slipping something in her drink. I think she and Jamie had a bet or something."

"So, yes, in order to avoid such a shitty fiasco, Italian, we shall eat, whenever that day comes."

"Italian, again?" Blaine questioned, his eyebrows rising.

"Yes, I'll order you as much fettuccine as you want."

"Now, that's what I wanted to hear," Blaine whispered, cupping Kurt's cheek and pulling him in for another, deep kiss, their tongues battling one another. They were lucky the Navigator's windows were tinted.

They separated for air after a few minutes. "Oh, god, not in the car, Blaine," Kurt gasped, his face turning red. Blaine leaned back in his seat smugly.

"To home we go?"

"That sounds like a brilliant idea."

_**The End**_

* * *

><p><strong>Final Author's Note: <strong>

I love you all. If only I could give you all Internet hugs and klisses and everything under the sun. I would, if I could (breaks out into song). "I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You" has been completed. My first completed multi-chaptered fanfic. Man. This is _surreal_.

AGH AND IT ENDED WITH FLUFF. SHAMELESS FLUFF. AND THIS IS THE SHORTEST CHAPTER AT SIX PAGES. MY HEART. SOMEONE TAKE MY HEART AND THROW IT INTO A WELL AND LET IT DIE. I AM FOREVER ALONE. Ahem. Anyway…

Please check out my newest story, "_Witness Protection Problem_"! It needs some ~love~. I hope you guys will like it! Don't let the M-rating deter you. ANYWAY, IT HAS BADBOY!BLAINE, SO I'M EXCITED TO COMPLETE IT. I THINK I'M JUST STALLING BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO FINISH THE LAST AUTHOR'S NOTE OF THIS STORY—

"JUST LIKE MANY RELATIONSHIPS, I THINK I'M JUST GOING TO…RUN AWAY."

Love,  
>Sam<p>

P.S. I'm thinking of making a compilation of one-shots…like, prequel-shots to this story. Like, snapshots of Dani and Blaine's childhood (especially moments Danielle mentioned to Duke in chapters eight and 11), meeting Duke for the first time, UCLA, angsty!Blaine and angsty!Kurt separation moments, and stuff leading up to this story. What do y'all think? 'Cause I have a crazy headcanon for this and _everything_. PLUS, THE FINN VS. ANTHONY SPATULA BATTLE WILL BE IN IT. YAY. I kind of don't want to leave my Dance 'Verse yet. Welp.

(Oh, and I hate Ryan Murphy because Blaine is not a fucking junior, damn it...AT LEAST NOT TO ME and 99.9999% of the fandom.)


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